


Hephaiston's Resort

by ladykardasi, PetLeopard56, Slasherfem



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Everyone Is Gay, First Time, Fluff, Gay Sex, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, POV Multiple, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Romance, Sex, Slash, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 119,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykardasi/pseuds/ladykardasi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetLeopard56/pseuds/PetLeopard56, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slasherfem/pseuds/Slasherfem
Summary: Hephaiston's Resort is a place where gay men can relax and be themselves.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> **This is an adult novel with explicit homosexual content. The characters are original, but inspired by various actors and television characters.**   
>    
>  **Concept of "Hephaiston's Resort" is copyrighted by: ladykardasi**   
>  _**Parts of the story are copyrighted by: ladykardasi** _   
>  _**Parts of the story are copyright: Slasherfem** _   
>  _**Parts of the story are copyright: Pet Leopard** _

Chapter One

Richard

Richard left school that afternoon without looking back. He was tired today and almost regretted setting up his lunch with Roxanne, but she had been adamant that he show up, and he had finally given into her persuasion. Were he to be honest with himself, sharing lunch with his opinionated daughter would be much better than going back to his empty apartment. Roxanne had a vivacious personality and would undoubtedly make him feel better about himself and life in general. She usually did.

Richard sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose distractedly. His students were a tiresome lot. Even though most of them were adults, they could sometimes act like juveniles and today had been no exception. There were several parts of his curriculum that he considered boring, although he probably would never admit it aloud. Reading Walt Whitman wasn't one of those things. Walt Whitman's poetry always made him feel as though he wasn’t alone in the world. But of course, the poems brought out the most childish comments from the students. Richard halted and unlocked his metallic blue SAAB, sliding into the seat. Starting the engine, he remembered the look on Jeremy’s face when he stated: 

“Damn it, this poet is so fucking gay.” 

“Yes, and what of it?” Richard had asked patiently, steeling himself for a derogatory answer, but received only spread snickers from the students, and a comment from Leo:

“Jeremy. It’s poetry for God’s sake. What did you expect?” 

This kind of discussion often came up during the readings of Walt Whitman’s works, but generally, Richard tried to make the students more understanding, to see the greatness of Walt Whitman’s poetry for what it was – beautiful language, wonderful poetry and prose. He longed to make his students see that the love expressed in those poems was no less real or worthwhile because it sometimes was the love of one man expressed for another. 

Of course, it was a personal thing. He wanted American youth to become more open to the idea of gay people and he admitted to himself that the need for deeper acceptance was very personal and private, but he would also admit that he was sometimes afraid of being too persistent. What if his students would understand, and find out the truth about him? He’d never openly admitted that he was gay and it was hard to change a lifetime of conditioning. He barely admitted the truth in his own mind, and that made him respect himself even less. 

Richard sighed and drove out from the parking lot, turning his car toward the section of town where Tennyson’s Diner was. He’d promised to meet Roxanne there right after work, and he was already running late.

* * *

She sat near the window, as was her habit. The sunlight spilled through the transparent glass, painting her startling red hair with gold. Roxanne enjoyed sitting in the quiet restaurant, watching the bustling outside; people leaving work, going someplace else, home or to some meeting with friends. Richard knew that she still enjoyed making up stories about the passer's-by, something she'd done ever since she was old enough to use her imagination. Her head was a nest of wild curls and her somewhat full figure was cloaked in colorful garments. Today her choice of attire was a bright yellow t-shirt and a long, flowing skirt in the same bright yellow, with additional floral patterns in red and blue. She had always been the one bright spot in his dismal existence. His marriage had certainly not been a good idea. Although he had liked Candice, she had not been a person he should have married. Even so, he had missed her when she had passed away three years earlier, and he knew that Roxanne still grieved terribly for her mother. 

“Hi Dad. It’s so good to see you!” 

Roxanne rose from the chair and sent him a bright smile that warmed his heart, and he could feel his spirits lifting just by seeing her. He should have known. Wrapping her in his arms in a tight hug was the best part of his day so far. 

“Rox,” he murmured affectionately into her hair, drawing the flowery fragrance of her perfume deep into his lungs, as though it gave him more life. And to be honest, it did. “It’s good to see you, too. Have you ordered yet?”

“No, I’m not really that hungry,” she said, but she didn’t look sad or upset. Instead her green eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“What’s on your mind?” he said cautiously. As much as he loved his high-spirited daughter, he knew that he might be in deep trouble when he saw that look on her face. She was oftentimes trying to brighten his life by introducing him to women that he truly did not wish to date, and whom he rarely even wanted to get to know as friends. They were too different, too...female. He longed for companionship, but he wondered how his daughter would react if he ever told her the truth. Perhaps he should tell her. He was so tired of living a lie, and the older he got, the more he understood that one life was all he would ever have, and he had the same right as anyone else to grab at any chance for happiness.

The idea of telling the truth to her was not new. He had been on the verge of letting her know for years. Ever since she had turned eighteen. No, Richard thought, he'd contemplated it even earlier than that. When Roxanne was twelve years old and he and Candice had divorced, but he'd pushed it away then, because he'd felt that Roxanne was too young, and over the years it had become more and more difficult for him to open up about the truth. He'd preferred to bury it and ignore his very nature. 

The divorce had been hard on Roxanne, not knowing why they had split up, but he'd been afraid. How would she feel if he told her? He'd learned to avoid the issue carefully in general conversation, afraid that he might give himself away. Now, for a short moment, he regretted it and decided to be more open about his feelings. 

“Dad,” she said. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Right,” he said tiredly. “Lay it on me, my dear.”

“You don’t have to sound so worried, Dad,” she said and sat on her chair as he slid into his own opposite her. She kept her grip on his hand, and rubbed her thumb over his fingers gently. Now he knew he really was in trouble. It was as though she was trying to soothe him. 

“I think I have a reason to be,” he said dryly. “When you talk like that, there is usually some conniving scheme behind your words.”

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” she said. “I’ve just realized that I can’t go on like this anymore.”

His heart constricted in his chest and he looked up at her. “Is there something wrong, Rox?” he asked as terrible scenarios of illness, accidents and other sorrows played out in his overly imaginative mind. 

“Yes, there is, but there’s nothing wrong with me, Dad,” she hastened to reassure him. “The problem is with you, and that you’re not being honest with me.”

His worry lessened somewhat at the same time as the guilt rose. “What are you talking about?” Of course he suspected that she had figured out his secret. Sometimes he got the feeling she had known before he admitted it to himself, and sometimes... sometimes he managed to tell himself that she hadn’t, just to put off the moment of truth a little bit longer. 

“I know, Dad," she said, staring into his eyes. 

Richard's heart skipped a beat. 

"Come on. You don’t have to keep pretending with me. I’ve been trying to say something for so long, but I never really found the right words. I’ve tried bringing it up so many times but you keep avoiding my stumbling attempts to even broach the subject. So I’m just going to come out and say it.”

“What?” 

“I know you’re gay, Dad. I’ve known for years. I’ve just been waiting for you to....”

Her words tapered off and he could no longer hear her. His world narrowed from the restaurant to her face. All he could see was the concerned look in her eyes and the way her lips kept moving. He assumed she was still talking but it was as though he had gone deaf, and couldn’t hear a word she said. 

“Dad?” 

He didn’t know what to say. 

“Dad, are you listening to me?”

And suddenly the world righted itself again. 

“I’m sorry, Roxanne. You took me completely by surprise. What did you say?”

Roxanne sighed. “Never mind. I just want to know if I’m right.”

Richard pulled his hand away from hers and looked at his fingers, now interlacing on the chequered tablecloth. 

“May I take your order?” 

The waiter’s voice cut into his world in a singularly irritating manner. He’d not been able to gather his thoughts, not been able to figure out what to tell his daughter. Despite having thought about this moment so many times, he was now at a loss to what to do and what to say. 

“We’ll have two cups of coffee and two ham and cheese sandwiches,” Roxanne said hastily. 

It was so obvious even to the waiter that he was not welcome at their table, so he left swiftly and Richard couldn’t help smiling at the thought that he would hesitate to return with their order until they made it very clear that they were ready for it. 

“Come on, Dad. Say something,” Roxanne murmured and took his hand again. “I never meant to shock you, but we’ve been dancing around this subject for so long and now…now I found something that might be of help to you.” 

“Help?” he said. “Roxanne. Please. Even if what you're asking were true, which I’m not saying that it is, I don’t need your help. I don’t want to...“ Richard paused and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Hadn't he just promised that he wouldn't avoid the subject if Roxanne brought it up, promised himself that he would be honest?

He sighed deeply once more, lifted his head and met her concerned gaze. 

“I’m sorry, Roxanne," he said softly. "I’m so used to trying to avoid talking about this. You’re right. Of course, you’re right. It’s true.”

“What’s true, Dad?” Roxanne said gently, and he realized that he would have to say it. He had to be honest with her – and with himself. It wouldn't be out in the open until he had admitted it aloud. 

“It’s true, sweetheart. I am not straight.” Richard frowned, as the irritation spread inside him. He'd expected to feel relieved, but those words weren't enough. He knew it when she looked at him expectantly. He tried again. “I’m ... homosexual.” 

There. He’d said it. And there was the relief; a relief so profound he almost felt faint. It washed over him like a cleansing spring rain. 

“I’m gay,” he repeated. “I have been all my life.”

“I’m glad you told me, Dad," she said softly and squeezed his hand gently. 

Roxanne smiled. "The waiter is coming back. He looks like he thinks I'm going to bite him."

"Smile, honey, and we'll get our sandwiches."

All of the sudden, Richard realized he was famished. 

"So, Dad," Roxanne said as the waiter left once more. "Why didn’t you ever tell me before?”

And that launched a conversation he’d never expected. Certainly not at Tennyson’s Diner. They sat there, at their table with the white and red chequered tablecloth, for three hours, sipping their coffee and eating their ham- and cheese sandwiches, and Richard told his daughter about his past. He relaxed more for each word as the acceptance in her eyes washed over him. He wondered what had frightened him so much about telling her. And while he talked, he felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt younger than he had in years. 

Connor

“Bring the demo tapes into my office, Margo,” Connor said into the internal telephone. He rubbed his hand over his crew cut and sighed. 

This had been the most grueling week in a very long time, but he was almost finished with the set-up now. He’d gone through all the tapes except this last batch, and he knew that he was almost home free. If he could find one or two more promising bands, he’d be done for the day, and he'd be able to relax a little over the weekend. Margo always went through the tapes diligently, and only brought the most interesting ones to his table. Thankfully, that meant he never had to listen to the truly bad stuff. 

Margo knocked at the door and entered. She was a petite woman with a shock of black hair, tucked back in a very professional bun. She wore flattering, but very professional suits to the office, and Connor caught himself once again wondering what she would look like in something a bit more...comfortable. Margo was exactly his type of woman, but apparently – Connor sighed – he wasn't her type at all. 

“You’re looking at me like that again, Boss,” she pointed out, and he sent her a charming smile. 

“What can I say, Margo? After a week like this you must forgive me for succumbing to my baser instincts.” 

“As long as whatever you're thinking stays in your mind, it’s fine with me,” Margo said firmly, and placed the stack of CD’s on his desk. “There are four of these I really think you should listen to, but a couple of them are – kind of different. You might not like them. I know you said you were looking for something with a bit of edge to it, something that isn’t mainstream, and the Bloody Corpses certainly aren’t mainstream, but they might be a bit too far from what you were looking for.”

Connor lifted an eyebrow at her. “Bloody Corpses?” 

“Yes,” she said and a grin spread on her lips. 

Connor loved it when her professional mask fell, even if it was only for an instant. He'd made it a priority in life to make Margo either smile or blush, preferably both. 

“They’re not as bad as you think,” she continued.

“I might have to persuade them to change their name if we decide to sign them.” 

Margo pursed her lips at him and he laughed. They’d both been down that road more than once. Few people were so stubborn and pig-headed as creative folks when it came to names and such. But whatever. There were bands around with names that rang even worse or similar to this. Carcass came to mind. 

“I’ll have a listen. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Yes, this one,” Margo said and held up one of the CD's she had brought. “If you’re looking for the next Britney Spears, this girl might be worth a listen. She sent along a stack of photographs as well. They're in that blue folder on your desk. She calls herself La Demonessa and is far from as innocent as Britney was when she first started out, but she’s got the same sex appeal and freshness to her looks. Here.”

Margo pulled out the portfolio and Connor opened it. From black and white photographs a young woman stared back at him. She had soulful, dark eyes, and a hair that fell in rich rivulets around a heart-shaped face and the body of a true goddess. She was beautiful. 

“She certainly looks the part,” Connor said distractedly as he leafed through the rest of the pictures. He finally came to some with color and grinned when he realized the girl’s hair was a fiery red and her eyes were spitfire green. “Can she actually sing?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, she has a rather strong voice, but the songs aren’t much to work with,” Margo said. 

“We might be able to fix that,” Connor said and kept looking at the pictures. 

A sense of satisfaction spread through him as he realized that they might actually be onto something here. His gut feeling was often right. Of course he would have to listen to the girl before making any decisions. He looked up at Margo finally, who was still waiting patiently at his desk. “Anything else?”

“No, I think the rest of them speak for themselves.” 

“Then you can go home for the day.”

“Thanks, Boss,” she said and turned around. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yes,” he said and rose from his chair, walking over to the elaborate media system he kept in his offices. In fact, his office was equipped with pretty much the same things the best studios were, but he enjoyed having all the technical advantages right at his fingertips. He was one of the best producers around, and he knew it, but for the most part Connor made his employees do the work for him. 

“By the way, Boss,” Margo said as she peeked in through the door. 

“Yes?” 

“There was a delivery made for you this afternoon. It’s right here. I’m sorry I forgot, but today has been really hectic.”

It must be for Margo to forget anything, Connor thought and took the delivery out of her hands. 

“That’s okay, Margo. Let me see it – and get out of here.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words and she closed the door firmly behind her as she left. 

It was a large, manila envelope and he frowned when he recognized it. He reached for the letter knife, opening it carefully and stared at its contents. Who the hell knew enough about him to send something like this?

Alex

Alex kicked the rock – hard. It skittered across the pavement, and landed in the grass on the other side of the street. He sighed, trying to force away the depression that threatened to swallow him. 

Life really sucked big time. Being dumped was never fun, and he felt as though the last couple of years had been a long string of dumps – in more ways than one – and he’d put it in the perfect words. Life was crap. First there had been Lenny, Lenny with the gorgeous body who had picked him up at the Nest. They’d gone out for three weeks, had pretty good sex, not terrific, but pretty good, and then Lenny had picked up someone else at the Nest and left him. Then there had been Andrew who followed pretty much the same pattern as Lenny, and then there had been Gary, and Martin, and ... yesterday, Robert had uttered those dreaded words. 

“I’m sorry, Alex, but this isn’t working.”

After those words, he'd pretty much stopped listening. He knew the Speech by heart at this point in life. Still Robert's words echoed in his mind. 

“It’s not your fault. I’m just not ready to commit to anyone, and I need to move on with my life.” 

Robert had a great voice, and he'd been fun to be around, much more so than the other guys Alex had been dating the past couple of years, but it didn't seem as though this was meant to be either. 

Why was it that every guy he met kept saying the exact same thing to him, or at least a variation of the same thing? Was it that he was looking for a partner in the wrong places? He’d met all these guys at some club or other. They’d all shacked up with him for a couple of weeks or months at the most, and then, then they’d held The Speech. And left. His record collection had shrunk considerably over the last couple of years, and he was still wondering which of these guys was now the proud owner of his leather blazer. 

Perhaps it was that he was looking for love in the wrong places, but then again, where else to go than to the clubs to pick up a guy? It wasn’t as though they all wore signs on their foreheads saying: “I'm gay and I want a steady relationship.” To make matters worse, Alex had never had a very reliable gaydar. He’d be just as likely to pick up the straightest guy ever born as the most obvious queen. He’d talked to his brother about this a million times, and even Patrick – who was straight as an arrow – was better at picking out the gays than he was. He had never gotten the hang of it. 

Alex sighed and pulled the keys out of his jeans pocket. 

It wasn’t so much that it hurt because Robert had left him as the fact that Robert had left him. Being dumped for the fifth – or was it sixth? – time in two years made Alex feel like a complete failure again. 

Alex suddenly realized that his attitude might be part of the problem. He'd sort of started to wait for the other shoe to drop, and for the guys to dump him even on the first night they were together. 

Opening the door to his apartment, Alex stepped inside. He nearly planted his boot on today’s mail, and stopped cold as he saw the manila envelope. It wasn’t the first time he’d received one of those. It might be the third time or even the fourth. Thoughtfully, he picked it up from the floor and turned it over with a frown on his face. Instead of moving to the paper basket immediately he ran his fingers across the letter, leaving black smears on the pristine surface. The dirt made him forget about the letter in his hand for a moment. He really should hit the shower. That last pipe he’d fixed at the Henderson’s had been a nightmare, but he was finally done. Henderson should be able to open his bar next Friday as he’d planned, and that was a relief. Henderson wasn’t a nice person to work for, and finishing the plumbing to both the bathrooms and the kitchen had been a lot of work. 

Perhaps that was another reason why Robert had decided to call it quits, Alex mused. He hadn’t exactly been a party animal over the last few weeks, and truth be told, he had been when they first started dating. Alex always liked to go out and have some fun, but when he was working from 6 AM to 8 PM every day, he needed all the sleep and relaxation he could get. Robert should have been able to understand that, but he hadn't. 

Good riddance!

Alex threw the manila envelope on the kitchen table, and decided that before he opened that thing to see if the offer had changed, he would take a shower, grab a cold beer from the fridge and plunk himself down on the couch. In order to find someone new in his life, he might have to take a different approach. Perhaps receiving this letter today was a sign from above that he needed to change his game plan? 

Corey and Kennet

Corey sighed and threw the poetry book on his desk. Walt Whitman. He’d never thought he would actually borrow a poetry book, but after today’s lesson, he and Kennet had headed to the library and picked up a few books and one of them were the collected poems by Walt Whitman. 

He admitted it, he had it bad, and he wanted to know what the appeal about Whitman was to Richard Stevenson. What made a forty-something guy pick up that kind of reading – besides being forced to it by circumstances, being a literature teacher and all? But it wasn’t only that. For the first time ever, Corey had seen something in his teacher’s eyes, a glow and true passion for something. That spark of interest in the green eyes had made Richard Stevenson even more attractive to Corey than he had been before. 

“It’s not impossible that there’s another lesson to be learned from today’s literature class,” Kennet insisted, and sprawled across Corey’s bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles. The bed looked small when he lay on it like that, and Corey sighed. He’d always been a bit jealous of his friend for his physique. Kennet looked like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine with his dark brown hair, chiseled cheekbones and brown, expressive eyes that could send a come-hither look that would seduce a rock – except Corey wasn’t seduced by those shamefully good looks. He’d known Kennet since he and his family moved to the States from Sweden ten years ago. They were like brothers, and had been ever since they had both discovered they had something special in common. They were both gay – just not interested in each other; at least not that way. 

“It’s of no use, Kennet. Just stop badgering me about it. I’m not going to hit on my literature teacher. He’s old enough to be my fucking dad!” 

But sexy, oh, so sexy. Corey closed his eyes to stave off the stab of desire that wanted to claim him at the mere thought of Richard Stevenson. How pathetic was that anyway? He'd always scoffed at people who fell in love with their teachers. There couldn't be anything more clichéd or stupid than that, could there? And now – here he was, totally smitten with the most gorgeous man in the world. The most attractive thing about Richard Stevenson was his voice. If he hadn’t been a teacher, he could have become an actor, or perhaps someone who read books on tape for blind people, or he could have made a fortune picking up phone calls on a 1-900 number. The mere thought of that voice whispering dirty things in his hear in the heat of passion made Corey hard. 

“He is sexy as all hell,” Kennet pointed out, as though reading Corey’s mind. “You like him so much it gives you a hard-on every time you’re in his class – hell, it gives you a hard-on whenever you think about him! There's no use in trying to deny it, because I’ve seen what you’re packing!” 

Corey stared at his friend, unable to stop the blush from creeping up on his cheeks. He’d never expected anything like that coming out of Kennet’s mouth, although he should have really. Kennet didn't believe in sugarcoating his words, or his opinions. 

“Damn it, Kennet. I had no idea you check me out like that!” he teased, hoping to get his friend to think about something else. 

“I don’t, Corey, and you know it, but you could poke someone’s eye out with that thing!” 

Corey groaned and buried his head in his hands. He sat on the bed beside Kennet, wanting to turn his back to his friend for a while, to collect himself. His heart was pounding. Just the thought of ... Corey pulled his glasses off and rubbed his face trying to come up with something to say. His crush – or whatever else you might call it – on his teacher had steadily gotten worse ever since the school year began and that was six weeks ago now. 

“All right, I admit it. He turns me on. So what? He’s been married and he’s got a daughter my age. I don’t think he’d be interested even if he’s not completely straight – which,” Corey continued and looked Kennet straight in the eye. “he probably is.”

“Oh, come off it, Corey. You’re stupid if you think that his being married really has anything to do with what he’s really like. You’ve said yourself that he sets off your gaydar big time, and you’re almost impossible to fool.” Kennet wouldn’t budge, but just waved Corey’s protests off like they were annoying flies buzzing around his head. 

"Do you think he's noticed me looking?"

"No, unfortunately, I don't. If he is gay – or even bi, he's not open about it, and he seems almost afraid to look at any one of us for too long. Especially the boys – which is why I think he is queer actually." 

“All right, all right. Say that you are right. Say that Richard Stevenson actually would be interested in guys; he still wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I’m one of his students for crying out loud.” 

Corey wanted Kennet to protest, and he wasn't disappointed, because a bright smile lit up his friend's handsome face when he sat up in the bed, interest lighting his features.

“Okay, granted, you are one of his students, but you could easily change that. You don’t need this literature degree to become the computer whiz you want to be. Besides, we’re only studying nights to better ourselves. It’s not like you really need this anyway.” 

That was true. Both he and Kennet had decided to take a few classes to further their education to have a better chance on the open market. They had pretty darn good daytime jobs, but it never hurt to have an edge. The literature class had just been for fun, though because they both loved to read. 

“But still...I wouldn’t even know where to start.” Corey could hear the whine in his voice and he put his glasses back on, staring at his friend who was now resting a chin on his shoulder, peering at him. 

“Now you’re talking. I have this idea...” Kennet said and scooted to the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor beside Corey’s and put an arm around him. 

Corey sighed inwardly. Kennet’s ideas could sometimes be dangerous – he knew that from experience – but if this one had any chance of working, he was willing to try. What was the worst thing that could happen? Most of his classmates already knew he was gay, and if he tried hitting on Richard Stevenson, the older man might turn him down, but from what he knew about his teacher; there wouldn’t be any other repercussions. Richard Stevenson was a decent guy, somewhat broody, the tiniest bit bitter and perhaps he could throw scathing remarks around him that were enough to make the bravest man cower, but he wouldn’t do anything really nasty. Corey was sure that Richard wouldn’t use the knowledge against him, for Stevenson never dressed down a student who didn’t thoroughly deserve it. 

The best that could happen... Corey swallowed and closed his eyes, imagining Richard Stevenson’s velvety voice whispering very nasty things into his ear, while pounding into his body as though there was no tomorrow. He almost groaned aloud and decided that he could live with that. He could definitely live with that. 

“Now, look at this, Corey,” Kennet said and flipped open his laptop. “My friend Roxanne pointed it out to me yesterday.” 

“Roxanne?” Corey said. “You’re not telling me that it’s Roxanne, Roxanne ... “

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Roxanne Stevenson – his daughter,” Kennet said with a mischievous smile on his lips. “I’ve known her for a while, you know that.” 

Jake

Jake threw back his beer and scoped the surroundings again. They hadn't improved. Most of the guys at the Lair were in their late twenties or early thirties. This wasn’t one of those leather bars or places where only a certain kind of guy went. The Lair was more laid back. He’d forgotten how relaxing that could be, but at the same time, the clientele wasn’t very impressive. He’d seen them all before and none of them struck his fancy, and those who actually did were already spoken for. 

This place wasn’t the most interesting he knew, but it was the only club he hadn’t been cruising very heavily lately. He’d hoped to meet someone new; a guy he could pick up and have some wild, hot sex with, and then forget about in the morning. He’d been involved with far too many losers lately. He deserved so much better. 

“Hey, Blondie. Long time no see,” said a man Jake recognized. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair that framed a roughly chiseled face. 

“Doug,” Jake said curtly. 

Doug was handsome in a threatening way, something Jake had found impossible to resist when they had first met a couple of months earlier. They’d hooked up a few times before, until Jake grew tired of him. Doug pushed himself in between Jake and the guy who stood next to him sipping a watered-down whiskey. 

For several reasons, Doug wasn’t one of Jake’s favorite people. First of all, he knew Doug was into drugs, and whatever else Jake did, he didn’t use drugs. He was of the firm conviction that they only messed up your life, big time. The music business was full of crap like that, but he’d resisted trying anything so far, and he intended to keep resisting any kinds of drugs except the drinking kind until the day he died. 

Putting yourself in danger by racing cars illegally was one thing, it only got your adrenaline pumping – or to stand onstage in front of a huge crowd running wild – now that really got Jake’s blood pumping, but shooting yourself full of poison? Nope, that wasn’t his idea of fun. 

“How’s life?” he forced himself to ask. Being polite really wasn’t his strong suit, but if he remembered things correctly, Doug also had a pretty short temper, and he was built like a brick house. No need to tick him off unnecessarily. Jake might like danger, but he wasn’t stupid. 

“I can’t complain,” Doug said and shot him an evaluating look, and Jake sighed. Doug’s pale gray eyes were slightly out of focus, and his face damp, as though he was either in withdrawal or had recently taken something. He also looked like he could eat Jake with a spoon if he were allowed. Jake was not interested. Few things turned him off as much as a lover he had grown tired of, and he’d gotten Doug out of his system a very long time ago. 

“That’s good to hear,” Jake said. “Have a nice evening.”

“Hey!” Doug said and grabbed his arm. “What’s your hurry?”

“I’m meeting someone,” Jake lied and shook Doug’s hand off his arm. “I’ll see you around,” he said coolly and walked off without a backwards glance. 

He left the bar soon after that. The place had completely lost its appeal. Perhaps he should just try something new, something that didn’t involve picking up lonely guys in seedy bars? But it wasn’t as though he had much to choose from in his line of work. Had his band gotten its breakthrough, he’d probably have the opportunity to pick and choose if the word got out that he was gay, but so far the Bloody Corpses were still playing small avenues, and most of their groupies were teenage girls who used way too much make up. 

Jake sighed as he walked out into the cool autumn night. What he wouldn’t give for a tight-assed young man with a cocksucker’s lips. 

Richard

“No,” Richard said for the second time. “I can’t do this, Roxanne. Don’t try to persuade me.” He was tired, but some part of him was really intrigued by the papers she had given him. And she knew it. She was like a dog with a bone. She wouldn’t give up. The manila envelope lay on the table, now opened, and she had made him read through the offer. 

Dear citizen, 

Are you, like us, tired of bigotry and prejudice? Are you looking for something lasting and something genuine? Are you looking for a safe haven where it’s okay to be gay? Are you looking for a place to meet other men like yourself, men who are tired of cruising the bars only to realize that it’s not the right place to find someone to truly care for? You’ve found the right place. 

Hephaiston’s Resort is where you need to go.

It went on to describe the hotels and the bars, the exercising equipment, the restaurants and the relaxation areas, the beaches and everything else you could think of. Beautiful pictures portrayed good-looking men walking hand in hand or kissing. Richard caught himself feeling both embarrassed and titillated by the whole idea. At first it looked like some form of imagined paradise for young, gay men, but the brochure made it quite clear that it was enjoyed both by single men and men who already had found their life partner. It was a vacation spot where you could relax without worrying about prejudice.

At first he’d laughed right out. It sounded like a bad joke, but Roxanne had ensured him that this place was real, and that she had friends who had travelled there, and come home with a more positive outlook on life. 

“It’s a terrific place, Dad. I wouldn’t have told you about it if I hadn’t heard it recommended from a friend of mine. Mario and his husband came back only a couple of weeks ago, and when I heard about it, I asked Mario to give me some information.

“You didn’t...“ Richard started, but Roxanne just shot him a look. 

“Of course, I didn’t tell him it was for you. And he didn’t even ask. He just signed me up on the Internet and I got the pamphlet in the mail this morning. Dad, I know this might sound like a bad joke to you, but Mario told me it was relaxing to go to a place where nobody would look at you strangely or treat you differently just because you’re gay. The best part of it was that he and David could show their affection for each other openly without risking harassment. I think that’s exactly what you need, if only to come to terms with your own feelings. It's a great environment for that.” 

Richard wasn’t sure she was right about that. He honestly thought the whole idea felt like getting thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool without knowing how to swim. 

“It’s not some sex paradise?” Richard said suspiciously. “Not some depraved resort that will end up being raided by Interpol or something?” He was only half-joking. 

“No, it isn’t. Dad, would I even suggest this to you if it were?” Roxanne looked appalled at the mere suggestion and he knew she was right. She would have checked this out thoroughly before even coming to him. Especially so soon after letting him know she was aware of the truth.

“And why do you think I need to go to this place anyway?” he asked. 

“Please,” she said impatiently and looked him straight in the eye. He forced himself to meet her steady gaze. “It’s me, Dad. Not some bimbo who knows nothing about you.” 

He sighed and finally looked away. Helplessly, he rubbed the bridge of nose, a bad habit he was trying to break and he pulled his hand away even though he was longing desperately to massage away the tension that was building into a killer headache. 

“Look at you,” Roxanne said. “You need a vacation. When was the last time you went away on your own, just to relax? Nothing work related.” 

Richard started to say something, but then realized that he actually couldn’t remember. It had been a while. When could it have been? He frowned and searched his memory. Yes, that was it. Last time had been when he’d gone off on some form of vacation with Candice and Roxanne when Roxanne wasn’t even a teenager. Surely he must have taken a vacation since then? That was almost fifteen years ago. He hadn't gone off on a vacation alone since Candice died. 

“No, I thought so. Come on, Dad.” Roxanne looked at him imploringly. He realized that she was actually worried about him. “What have you got to lose?”

My sanity? Richard thought. My integrity? 

Loneliness? 

Connor

He’d been to the Hephaiston's Resort before, and he admitted it, it had been relaxing. It was a place where he could blend in without feeling insignificant. Most guys found him attractive even without knowing his name or how wealthy he was as long as he kept his eyes hidden - and the place was classy. The fact that it was cheap enough that he normally wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near it was probably only another reason why people who visited seldom recognized him. They didn’t expect the wealthy Connor Kian to show up in a place where the rooms cost no more than a hundred bucks a night – or less – and the food wasn’t prepared by world-class gourmet chefs. Of course, most people didn't know he swung both ways either. 

Connor sighed and slumped back in his expensive chair. He could use some time off, and he could use some time away from clubbing. He’d been planning on going out, maybe tomorrow or the night after that, but truth be told, going to the resort would be much better. The last few weeks had been gruelling, and he was kind of tired of the local scene. He needed something to really spark his interest.

Usually Hephaiston's Resort was frequented by a different kind of people than the clubs, and of course, the people there came from all over the world, not just good old Los Angeles. At the resort he would find normal guys, who just wanted to relax and have a good time. The atmosphere was different there from in the clubs – less desperate, and more welcoming. While Connor admitted to being attracted to the idea of being hunter – or prey on occasion – it could also grow tiresome after a time. 

He lifted the phone and had it pressed to his ear before remembering that Margo had gone home for the evening. He contemplated making the reservations on his own, but decided against it. He had work to do, she would be back in the morning, and he wouldn’t be leaving for another few days anyway.

Connor slid into the comfortable office chair and pressed “play” to either torture or treat his ears with the music of Bloody Corpses. 

As the first chord struck, Connor closed his eyes, and he just knew, he just knew, that he’d found his new gold mine. The singer’s name was Jake Williams and his voice was deep and hoarse but powerful, the music had a strong beat and the guitars alternated between sounding like haunted ghosts and being so achingly beautiful it was almost painful to listen to. Connor watched the young men on the photograph attached to the CD. The singer was a platinum blond with his hair slicked back. He had high cheekbones and full lips. His entire face screamed of attitude. He was quite handsome, Connor thought and he felt a familiar knot of desire tightening in his stomach. It had been way too long since he got laid, and this guy really looked like the perfect subject... 

Alex

Alex rubbed his wet hair with a towel and sank onto the couch. He felt so much better after a long, hot shower. It was as though most of the aches and pains in his body had disappeared and he dried his hair another few seconds before throwing it at the chair. It fell on the floor in a wet heap, but he was too comfortable to let it bother him. He reached out for the manila envelope and ripped it open carelessly. 

Yes indeed, it was the same offer he’d received several times before. The same glossy pamphlet with the same cheerful and almost naïve welcome message. He read through the text and this time he wondered if it might not be worth it. He’d seen this before, and doubted that it was something for him, and of course last time he hadn't been able to afford it even though the offer had seemed intriguing. Since then he’d heard rumours about the place at several of the clubs that he sometimes frequented – Hephaiston's Resort was building a good reputation. With his luck they'd probably upped the prices a good deal since last time. Warily, he checked the enclosed price list. His heart started beating wildly in his chest as he scanned the rows of different offers. 

One week’s vacation for less than a thousand dollars. That wasn’t really so bad. In fact it was pretty damn good. He’d get breakfast at the hotel, and living expenses wouldn’t really be any worse than staying home. He did have some money saved up.... 

Alex rose and looked out the window. It was grey and humid. Typical autumn weather. The first snow hadn’t fallen yet, but it was only a matter of time. He’d finished a large job that very day, and he didn’t necessarily have to find a new one right away. A vacation might be exactly what he needed, to get away from things and ... 

Yeah. 

Without thinking any further, Alex picked up his laptop and checked out the Hephaiston's Resort website. Three hours later, he received a confirmation email that his tickets would be sent to him within the next two days. Less than two weeks from now, he’d be living the good life in the sun, by the sea. For a week anyway. Sounded good to him. 

Corey and Kennet

“So you got this email address from Roxanne. Big deal.” Corey stared at Kennet. It was two days later, and they’d talked about virtually nothing but the Hephaiston Resort for hours on end. Kennet actually started to look a little weary. 

“Whatever happens, happens. I know Roxanne ordered the tickets for him the other day." Kennet repeated tiredly. Corey sighed. He knew he was being a royal pain in the butt, but what could he do? He felt like someone had put a live wire up his ass. 

“So you’re absolutely sure that Richard Stevenson is going?” he repeated, unable to stop himself. 

“Yes,” Kennet repeated again. “Now, do you want to go or not? Even if he’s not there, you and I could have some fun.”

Corey shot him a shocked look and Kennet hit him on the shoulder hard enough to make Corey wince. 

“There are other guys there, you know. Single guys. Handsome guys that are not me", Kennet pointed out. 

“And not Richard.” Corey said, hating the depressed sound of his own voice. 

"So what if he's not there? We could still use the time off. The semester is coming to an end – which is why professor Stevenson can go – and we've got enough money saved up. We're both single and ... well, it could be fun." Now Kennet's voice sounded persuasive, and the huge, brown eyes looked at Corey imploringly. Corey sighed. He wanted to go and when Kennet looked like a kicked puppy-dog he didn't have much to say in the matter. 

“Come on, I’ll talk to Roxanne if you want. I’ll find out when he’s going, the exact date and you can make sure we’re going at the same time, okay?” 

It did sound like a good idea. So Corey found himself nodding, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. 

Jake and Brandon

 

The phone rang even before Jake had entered his apartment. He fumbled with his keys. 

“Damn it, I’m coming,” he shouted and stumbled through the door, tearing the phone off its hook. 

“Jake Williams," he snarled impatiently. It was probably one of those idiots from his colourful past anyway. 

“Hey there, man. It’s Brandon. What’s up? You sound like you just ran a marathon.”

The relief that flowed through Jake when he realized that it was Brandon on the other side of the phone was almost tangible. Brandon was probably one of the very few people he actually didn't mind talking to right now.

“I wasn’t home when the phone rang,” he said, and threw the keys on the glass table in the living room. They made a clattering noise that made him wince. “What do you want?”

“Ouch, you don’t have to sound so happy to hear from me. I was just wondering if you had time to join me on a little trip.” Brandon's voice actually sounded as though he was slightly hurt by Jake's attitude. 

“Sorry. I’m just a bit tired. I got back from the Lair only a few minutes ago, and I ran into Doug.” That was something he'd rather not think about, let alone talk. 

“Oh, I see.” Brandon’s voice told Jake that he really did understand. “Left in a hurry, huh?”

“Yup.”

Jake ran his fingers through his hair, and sank down on the chair in the hallway. Brandon was one of the few guys he’d been with that he still talked to, and even spent time with from time to time. They’d been friends long before they got into bed with each other, and the friendship, such as it was, had continued since. 

“So, what kind of trip are we talking about?” Jake asked after a while, remembering why Brandon had called in the first place. 

“To the resort.” 

“The resort? You mean Hephaiston’s Resort?” Jake had heard about it. Every gay person knew about the resort by now. “Why would you want me to go with you to that place?” 

“I got free tickets. Thought I’d bring you. No fun going alone, and ... you know, if I can’t find a date when I get there, you’re not exactly hard on the eyes, and you’re a good fuck.” Brandon laughed, the kind of laughter that always made Jake smile and feel like all was right with the world.

Jake snorted. “Thanks, Brandon. You’re such a flatterer.”

But Brandon was right. They did occasionally still fall into bed together, but the really electrical spark just wasn’t there. Which was a shame really, because Brandon was a good guy and Jake liked him a lot. He had a great sense of humour, a laid back attitude to life that really fit Jake’s more restless spirit and edgy personality. Not to mention that he had a very good attitude about life. Jake couldn't remember when he'd seen Brandon mope around last. If ever. 

“Hey, I tell it like it is. You know I do, man.” 

“Yeah.” 

Whatever else you could say about Brandon and the way he looked – his long, black, straight hair tied back in a ponytail most of the time, tall, always dressed in black – he was the most honest guy Jake knew. If it only were a matter of looks, Brandon could actually have been one of the members of Bloody Corpses; only he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, and he was completely tone-deaf. Actually, to Jake that was one of his better qualities. Jake mostly hung around with the band members on his spare time and they always talked about music. Much as he enjoyed music – he lived it and breathed it after all – it was nice to have a friend whose brain wasn’t always occupied with the latest lyrics or some new, cool riff to build a song around. 

“So, what do you say? Want to come with?”

“I don’t know. Free tickets, you said? Where did you get those?”

“Don’t ask, man. You know what I do for a living.” Brandon sounded pained. 

“Yeah, I know what you do for a living,” Jake laughed. Brandon Klein was one of the driving forces behind the gay newspaper, Chicago Spear, and that sometimes landed him freebies like these. That was another thing about Brandon. There were few people around who were so openly gay as he, and he fought really hard to further the cause for all queers. And still he was always in a good mood, despite all the crap he saw and heard. And he saw a lot of crap, because of his work. 

“They want me to do an article on Hephaiston's resort. Joan was actually pretty pissed off when we got those tickets. She’d have loved to go there.”

“But the resort is for guys only, isn’t it?” Jake said. 

“M-hm, but I hear they’re planning one for lesbians as well.”

“Let me guess, the Sappho Hideaway?” Jake laughed. 

“How on earth did you know?” Brandon couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice.

“Call it a lucky guess. All right. I’ll go with you, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You fuck my brains out if I can’t get a date.” 

“You want me to come over now?” Brandon actually sounded as though he wished Jake would say yes. 

“Nah, I’m beat, so I’m just going to hit the sack. Rain check?“

"Any time, man. Any time.” 

 

Richard, Lucien and Quentin

 

All right, so he admitted it. He was on the plane and he had managed to find his seat. That didn't change anything, though – he was still scared witless, and watched the other passengers from behind his newspaper, wondering if they were going to the resort as well. Some of them were fairly obvious. Two older men sat across from the aisle from him and they were holding hands, talking animatedly all the while. It was obvious they hadn't boarded in Chicago, so they had probably entered the plane in New York. 

One of the guys was nearly bald, with almost aristocratic features; the other one was tall, broadly built and somewhat younger, with a head full of dark, thick hair and large, brown eyes. His lips were full and his voice was pleasant to listen to, although during the course of the flight, Richard realized that he probably didn’t have the most pleasant of personalities. It didn’t seem to bother his companion however. 

“Calm down, Quentin,” the bald guy said, his accent clearly French. “You are going to like this place, I assure you. Besides, you promised me you wouldn’t act childishly.”

“I’m not acting childishly, Lucien, but I don’t see why we couldn’t go somewhere more private. Your work takes you away from me so often that it would be pleasant to have you all to myself.” 

"Oh hush, you know you travel with me almost everywhere," Lucien said. "I need you with me for inspiration."

"I better go with you so you won't find inspiration with any of all those pretty young things that flirt with you all the time."

"They can flirt all they want, Quentin, and I wouldn't even look twice, you know it. Stop being such a jealous little prick and look forward to the trip. You've been moping ever since we stepped on the plane."

"I have not. I have done a lot more than mope," Quentin said and gave his partner a sultry look. 

Richard pulled his gaze away from the couple and swallowed. He fought down the blush that had risen on his cheeks at Quentin's words. Even he could imagine what the dark-haired man had talked about. 

But even though he was slightly embarrassed by the man's words, he also felt a twinge of jealousy. It all sounded so...normal, as though they were an old married couple trying to get into the mile-high club. 

Richard sighed deeply. He’d had these strange feelings all his life, and his family wouldn’t have accepted them and now ... these men sounded as though there was nothing to it. Just accept who you are and get on with your life – that's what their actions seemed to say to Richard. He thought of his father, and the way he would turn in his grave if he knew what his son was about to do, and yet. He glanced over at Lucien and Quentin. Lucien leaned forward and pressed his lips against Quentin’s in a loving kiss. It seemed so natural, comfortable and so normal. So normal. 

Shame suddenly filled him. He had always looked upon gay people as strange, and people who could not control the basic emotions in their lives. But why should they? What they felt for one another was also love. Seeing the other two men interact so comfortably with one another made him realize that he’d never even allowed himself to truly wonder what it would be like to embrace this part of himself. He’d expected it to turn him into someone other than who he was, but Roxanne’s insistence that he go on this trip had forced him to face himself, face things he hadn’t allowed himself to think about – at least not enough. And he realized that simply admitting to the fact that he was attracted to men, and perhaps even act on those feelings would not change the person he was. He would be fundamentally the same, only...happier? Perhaps it would even make him more himself than he'd ever been before. Why had he never thought of that?

“Can I get you something, Sir?” the waitress asked. She’d come around a couple of times before, but the nervousness he had initially felt had made him decline her offer.

“Yes, thank you,” he said now instead, feeling much more at ease. He smiled warmly toward her. “I would really like one of those sandwiches you offered me earlier.” 

“Certainly,” she said and returned his smile. “I will be right back.” 

And Richard glanced toward the couple across the aisle again. Quentin had wrapped his arm protectively around Lucien, who rested his head against his partner’s shoulder. 

Love. Pure love. There was nothing wrong with that. 

And for the first time, Richard could believe it. 

 

Connor

 

“I’ll use the private Jet,” Connor said distractedly as he closed his cell phone and slipped it into the breast pocket of his blazer. 

“All right. And you’re leaving at 0300?” Margo said. She was still writing in her notebook. Connor was reasonably sure she was still writing down the instructions he had given her earlier and still she was talking to him. Margo's capacity for doing several things simultaneously never ceased to amaze him. Oh well, that's why he was paying her the big bucks after all. 

“Yes, and you’ll hold down the fort for the coming week. My mother threatened to show up.”

“I can deal with Mrs Kian,” Margo assured him. 

No kidding, Connor thought. That was another one of the reasons for Margo’s more than adequate salary. She earned more than most surgeons in the United States, but she was worth every penny. Margo knew how to circumvent Mrs Cameron Kian when she was on the warpath, which happened more than often enough for Connor’s tastes. It seemed his mother was intent on getting him married off with some blond bimbo with more money than brains. It was not what Connor had planned for his future. In fact, marriage lay somewhere very far into the distance, if ever. In this day and age, there were other ways of securing an heir, if he wanted one. 

“Very well, and you can reach me on the cell phone if need be.” 

“I won’t call you unless there is an emergency.”

“Good. Then I’m leaving,” Connor said and moved to leave the office. At the very last minute he changed his mind and went back to the media system, pulling out the Bloody Corpses CD. “We really need to sign this band, he said. But they also need to change their name. This dark, bloody attitude is getting old.”

“Good luck,” Margo said dryly as the door shut behind him. 

 

Corey and Kennet

 

“Look, he’s over there,” Kennet said and pointed toward the front of the plane. They had finally settled in their seats, and Corey was looking for his professor at every turn. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to see him or not. Or if he wanted Richard Stevenson to even see him! He felt like a teenager, and despite appearances, it was a few years since he'd left that particular torture behind him.

“Oh, God, Kennet. Why don’t you make me even more obvious!” Corey hissed and pulled at Kennet’s extended arm. “Sit down and shut up! You’re making a fool out of me.”

“Well, you might as well get started as soon as possible. Why don’t you go over and sit next to him? At least now you know it's true. He's here, he's going to the resort, so he's gay.”

“Be quiett. I know, but I can’t. Not yet. Leave me alone. I need to think.” 

Corey felt as though he could have killed Kennet. Kennet seemed to always act as though nothing would phase him, but Corey was just waiting for his friend to fall for someone and he would get his payback!


	2. The Suite

Chapter Two

Jake and Brandon

“Oh, man, I like this!” Brandon exclaimed as he entered the bedroom. “Yes, indeed. It’s good to have connections, isn’t it, man?” He dropped down on the bed, instantly, sprawled across it as much as his lanky form could, and still he didn’t take up half of it, or even close to that much. 

“Yeah, it’s good,” Jake said and threw himself on the bed beside Brandon. The room was huge, the bed was huge, and the windows were huge. Everything was ... huge. “How come they gave you this suite?”

“I guess they don’t call it the honeymoon suite for nothing!” Brandon laughed. 

“Honeymoon suite, you brought me to the honeymoon suite!” Jake tried to sound appalled but couldn’t keep a straight face.

”Hey, I’m sure they want a good review in the magazine,” Brandon said defensively. 

“But still, you bring me to the honeymoon suite and eye the bellhop like that. I’m hurt.” 

“Aw, give it up, Jake. Didn’t you see that guy’s ass?” Brandon whistled. 

“Yup, I saw it, but I didn’t drool all over it, like you did!”

“Jealous?” Suddenly the joking tone of Brandon’s voice was gone and Jake sent him a glance. 

“Well, maybe just a little,” he admitted. “I’d like to have you to myself at least for the first day. Then you can start ogling the staff all you want.” But for some reason the whole idea of Brandon with someone else bothered him. 

“All right, since you ask so nicely, but I tell you, Jakey-boy, being a journalist does have its perks. I just never saw them before. Hell, I could get used to this!” 

“Me too, Brandon. Me too. All I need is a record contract and me and Bloody Corpses will go so far I’ll never have to think about money again.”

“And you can quit your day-job.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Jake admitted. 

Working in a record store wasn’t so bad, but it wasn’t what he really wanted to do with his life, and once that record deal came in, he’d never have to work from nine to five again. At least that was what Luke, the bass-player of BC kept telling him. Then again, Luke had always been the dreamer of the band. He painted a lovely picture with good money, beautiful chicks – which were his particular preference – song and enough liquor to drown a horse. 

“Would you say no to a fuck?” Brandon asked, and shot him a sideways glance. “Man, I haven’t had time to get laid in weeks. Come on, what do you say?”

Jake looked at Brandon and grinned. “You’re such a horny bastard.” But the tone of his voice belied his accusation. He hadn’t gotten laid in weeks either and the mere offer made him half-hard. “Top or bottom?” he asked and reached for Brandon. “What do you want, rough or not?”

“Bottom, and I’d like to feel like you care,” Brandon admitted and evaded Jake’s gaze. Jake almost decided to call it quits then. Was Brandon falling in love with him? If so, perhaps he shouldn’t do this, because he didn’t think he felt like that about Brandon and probably never would, but he wasn’t that noble. He was hard, and he really wanted to get laid, and Brandon had offered, after all, hadn’t he? 

Today, Brandon was wearing those tight, black leather pants that left virtually nothing to the imagination, and geeze, a bloke only had so much self-restraint. The leather hugged Brandon’s body like a shiny second skin. 

Jake rose from the bed, and looked down at Brandon, still sprawled on the bed. Brandon’s brown eyes were trained on him intensely, and Jake moved his hands over Brandon’s torso, down to his groin, brushing his fingers across the bulge already growing there. Brandon had always been one to enjoy sex, with few inhibitions about the whole thing. That was part of what made him attractive to Jake. Not self-conscious in any way, not ashamed of what or who he was. Just wanton, sexy and open. 

“Come on, Brandon, get up,” Jake said and held out his hand. 

Brandon took it and Jake pulled him out of bed, turning him around roughly. 

“You look good like this, you know that?” Jake said, huskily, running his hands greedily over Brandon’s tight ass and squeezing the cheeks through the soft leather. Brandon leaned his head back against Jake’s shoulder and sighed happily. 

Now that Jake had decided to do this, he admitted that he wanted it, and he allowed himself to see all those things about Brandon that he found really, really sexy. Brandon had gorgeous, long, muscular legs, and now that they were wrapped in supple, black leather, Jake couldn’t help but appreciate the view. Brandon had a tight ass that really begged to be fucked. Jake reached for the ponytail at Brandon’s neck and pulled the long hair out of the tie, and the black links fell over Brandon’s shoulders like an inky waterfall. He grabbed the long hair and wound it around his wrist and pulled Brandon’s head back. Brandon groaned and closed his eyes, baring his throat to Jake. 

“Sexy, Brandon,” Jake whispered. “So hot.” 

“God, I want you, Jake. Want you so much.” 

“You’ll have me, soon. Promise.”

And Jake moved his hands over Brandon’s chest, suddenly annoyed at the fabric that stopped him from feeling the soft hairs he knew was on Brandon’s chest, and the nipple ring he knew was hidden there as well. 

“Come on,” he whispered. “Get out of this.”

He started tearing at the black shirt, not bothering to undo the buttons, just pulling it over Brandon’s head and throwing it on the floor. 

“You too, Jake,” Brandon said, breathlessly. “I want to see you naked. Fuck, it’s been so long.” 

Brandon turned around in his arms and they were suddenly face-to-face, and Jake had this urge to kiss. They didn’t do that sort of thing very often. Kisses were for the people you loved, but then again, they had kissed on occasion. Sometimes they did, because they did love each other, they just weren’t in love, were they?

“Come on, Jake. Do it. It’s okay,” Brandon whispered and suddenly his hands were around Jake’s head, pulling him closer in a bruising kiss. It wasn’t a soft kiss, but rough and hungry. Jake had meant to do this slowly, and tenderly, because it seemed to be what Brandon had wanted right now. But this kiss wasn’t tender in any way. Jake groaned against Brandon’s warm lips, pushing his tongue roughly into the open cavern of Brandon’s mouth. Brandon sucked him in eagerly, his teeth scraping against Jake’s tongue almost hard enough to be painful. Brandon moaned like a man starved and Jake could feel the other man’s hands dig into his short hair, pulling him even closer, kissing him back with all he had. Jake pulled away, breathing harshly. 

“Oh, fuck, I want this, I want it so bad,” he admitted. It surprised him how much he wanted it but he didn’t stop to question it. He just accepted the fact that it had been too fucking long since he’d gotten laid, and even too fucking much longer since he had sex with anyone he gave a damn about. Maybe Brandon wasn’t the love of his life, it was someone Jake cared about and Brandon cared about him, he was a good guy and they’d had some good times together. 

Moving his hands down Brandon’s sides, Jake turned him around again, so that Brandon’s back was turned to his front, and then Jake squeezed Brandon’s cock a little roughly. He moved the other hand up to the nipple, pulling a little viciously at the ring there. 

“Oh,” Brandon moaned. “That’s good.” 

Jake sometimes liked it when Brandon was kind of passive, and just let him do whatever he wanted, and this time he did enjoy it. They shared some kind of silent rapport on this matter, and it was comfortable having sex with someone you knew so well. Jake really was ready to move on now, so he pulled back a little. 

“Lube?” he asked. 

“Hang on,” Brandon said and dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a small tube of lubricant. “Here – I think I’ve got rubbers in my wallet.” 

“Fuck the rubbers. You clean, Brandon?” Jake asked shakily. 

“Yeah. You?”

“Yup. Checked out perfectly just a couple of weeks ago. Nothing to worry about. You okay with that?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine with it. In fact, I’d love to skip the rubber, man. I don’t remember last time I did that. Geez. Just do it already.” 

Rubbers were a necessity, but Jake really hated them with a vengeance. It didn’t matter for the most part though. He’d never have sex without protection with anyone he didn’t know, but he knew Brandon, knew him and trusted him. 

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll do you.” 

Hastily he threw the small tube on the bed and started undoing his jeans. 

“Get those pants off, Brandon,” he said. Brandon turned around with a mischievous smile on his lips. 

“But you like them so much, Jake. I know you do,” he said. 

“Yeah, I like them just fine, but I can’t fuck you while you’re wearing them, now can I?”

“You’ve got a point,” Brandon said and shimmied out of the leather pants quickly. Those movements were really a sight to behold, Jake decided. 

Jake stepped out of his own jeans and just watched Brandon appreciatively. He was muscular in a sinewy way, even though he was lean. They were both on the thin side actually; with the same kind of build and pretty much the same height as well. And yet, they were still so different. Brandon’s hair was black as a raven’s feather, and Jake’s own was blond to the point of being white. His hair was slicked back neatly, while Brandon’s hung loosely around his angular face, shiny, long and straight. Where Brandon had the olive toned skin of someone with very dark hair, Jake knew his own skin was the pale type most really blond people had. 

Moving closer to not just look, but to touch as well, he reached out with his hand, running his fingers through the hair on Brandon’s chest. A shudder of pleasure travelled through Brandon, Jake could see it, because Brandon shivered under his touch and closed his eyes. Then Jake pushed gently so that Brandon fell on the bed with a laugh. 

“Open up for me, Brandon,” he said. “Spread your legs wide.”

Brandon just groaned, his cock leaping enthusiastically at Jake’s words, and he was hard, so hard. Jake really wanted to taste that hard flesh; but he didn’t think he had the patience for it, and it looked like Brandon didn’t either. This had gone from the regular buddy fuck to something different, something more. Brandon just lifted his head, looking straight into Jake’s eyes and drew his legs up, opening himself. 

“You’re so hot, Brandon,” Jake said. “You’re so hot like this.”

“Then fuck me, Jake. Just fuck me.” Brandon reached for his cock and started jerking it lazily, as if to tempt Jake even more, but Jake just batted his hand away. 

“Nu-uh, none of that. That’s mine.” 

“Then do something with it!”

“Such impatience,” Jake teased, reaching out for Brandon’s leg, brushing his fingers lightly across the warm, hairy skin. He could see the goose-bumps spreading as he moved closer to the tight sac between Brandon’s spread legs, and the dusky opening beneath. 

“You clean?” 

“I thought we just had that conversation?” Brandon whined impatiently. 

“I mean are you clean? As in not dirty.” Jake clarified with a meaningful  
look.   
“Oh,” Brandon’s eyes went wide. “Yeah, Yes, I’m clean. Oh, fuck, you’re not gonna... Are you? Oh fuck, you are!”

Jake leaned down, kissing Brandon’s balls gently, taking them into his mouth, licking them, feeling the coarse hairs against his tongue and how they lifted, tightened beneath his tongue. Brandon’s groans turned to whimpers as Jake moved down, across the perineum and toward the puckered opening below. Licking his way down there, he revelled in how Brandon slowly, but surely lost control. 

“Oh, god,” he groaned. “You are such a devil, Jake. Fuck. Do that again. Oh, man, what did you need the lube for? Do it, yeah, oh yeah. Harder.” 

Jake grinned and slid his tongue inside, swirling it around, slicking the opening thoroughly. Brandon might have a point. Perhaps he hadn’t necessarily needed the lube, but it was always better with lube than just saliva anyway. He pulled back and looked at Brandon, who was now flushed, with his long, black hair plastered across his face like tiny whips.

He couldn’t wait much longer either. Brandon was hot, so hot, and so close. Jake could tell. Rimming always did that to him, and it was great to see that he could still reduce Brandon to this whimpering mess. 

“Fuck me, Jake. How many times do I have to beg you?” 

“But you beg so beautifully, my Brandon,” Jake said and leaned over his lover. “Ask me again and I might do it.”

I will do it, Jake thought, I can’t wait, I can’t wait to fuck you naked. No damned rubber in the way, just your tight, warm channel gripping me, squeezing me tight. Your warm legs and arms wrapped around me, holding me close. 

He fumbled for the lube one last time. It lay where he’d thrown it earlier beside Brandon on the bed. This time he uncapped it and squeezed out an amount of lubricant, rubbing it onto his own cock, making a show of it. Doing it slowly and methodically. Jake smiled while he watched Brandon’s hungry gaze rake his body. 

Brandon licked his lips and groaned. 

“Fuck, Jake. Hurry up, you fucking tease. You’re so hot, so sexy. I always thought you were the best lay in the whole damn town. Now prove it to me.” 

“That’s more like it, Brandon,” Jake said. “Talk to me. You always talk in bed, I remember now. Just let me hear it.”

“I’ll talk your ears off, as long as you fuck me already.” 

Jake moved into position, holding himself steadily, pushing inside the tight opening, and watching Brandon’s face closely. He was tight, so tight. Even with the loosening up Jake had done with his tongue, he wasn’t sure he could do this without hurting Brandon. 

“You okay?” he asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just push inside, a little bit more. Yeah, like that.”

And Jake did push inside carefully. He just wanted to ram inside quickly and hard, but he would never do anything to hurt Brandon. So he pulled out slowly and went back in, just a little bit further this time. And Brandon groaned, in pleasure, not pain. 

Jake held back just a little longer, to allow Brandon to adjust, but then, a few seconds later, he pushed inside all the way. And he bit his lip, feeling the sweat trickle down his forehead and down his back. He just wanted to pound inside Brandon mindlessly. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so tight, so tight.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m tight, but it’s good, good. So good. Just fuck me.” 

And Jake let go, sliding inside Brandon’s tight heat, in and out, mindlessly, losing control, his entire being centering around that heat, squeezing him. He barely registered the moans that were coming from Brandon, barely registered the other man taking himself in hand, jerking himself off in time to Jake’s thrusts, but he could feel it when Brandon lost it, when the orgasm gripped him and he let out a howl that could have lifted the roof. 

“Oh, fuck, Jake, Jake....” 

And then he was coming too, seeing dark red spots flittering across his field of vision, taking him in completely like a violent vortex. And he collapsed on top of Brandon. 

He lay there like that; catching his breath after one of the most mind-blowing orgasms he could remember in a good long while. That meant something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. 

“Fuck, Brandon. I think you just killed me.” 

A trembling laughter was his only answer and Jake lifted his head to catch Brandon’s eyes. They held something odd. Something fragile. Jake had never seen that exact look on Brandon’s face before. Or maybe he had. He wracked his brain trying to remember. . 

“What’s up, Brandon?” he asked. “Something wrong?”

When? When had he seen that look on Brandon’s face before? 

“No, nothing’s wrong, Jake. Everything’s just great.”

But it didn’t sound great. So Jake just kept looking into Brandon’s eyes. And then it suddenly hit him. His sister. At his sister’s wedding last year. Brandon had looked like that, vulnerable, happy and... 

“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re not ...”

Brandon looked away but Jake would have none of it. 

“Come on, Brandon,” he said and grabbed Brandon’s chin, forcing the other man to look into his eyes again. 

“Are you...?” His voice caught on the words, but Jake forced himself to continue. “Are you falling in love with me, Brandon?”

“No,” Brandon said stiffly, and tore his gaze away. But he didn’t move in any other way. His arms still lay wrapped around Jake, protectively, possessively. 

“Don’t lie to me. You never used to lie to me. Don’t start now.”

“I’m not lying. I’m not falling in love with you, Jake.” Brandon then looked into his eyes unflinchingly. “I’ve been in love with you for ages. I thought you knew.” 

Jake swallowed and moved to the empty side of the bed, sprawling across it. He stared up at the ceiling and the crystal chandelier hanging there. The prisms caught the light from the sun shining in through the large windows. 

“No,” he said flatly. “I didn’t. I didn’t know.” 

What else could he say? He hadn’t. He’d suspected – but only just now, today. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known.


	3. Arrivals

Chapter Three  
Alex

The heat hit his face like a blow as he stepped off the airplane. They were herded off it like cattle, toward the bus that would take them to Hephaiston's Resort, and Alex couldn’t wait to get there. Twelve hours on an airplane was absolutely more than enough, and he was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake. He’d forgotten how oppressive true heat could get, and it sure was hot here at the moment. Alex wiped his forehead with his hand and sighed gratefully as he stepped onto the air-conditioned bus. 

And once he finally arrived at the resort, all his worries fled. It was a beautiful place. It was situated far away from the major cities, built by and for gay men. Everywhere he could see were couples walking with their arms around one another openly. It was good to see, and he relaxed instinctively the very moment he stepped into Hotel Pyramid. 

“Welcome Mr. Martin,” the clerk said as he introduced himself. “This is the key to your room.” 

He handed over a key card and the bellhop grabbed Alex’s bags and they walked to the elevator. The entire hotel was luxurious with brass and glass details everywhere. More classy than Alex had expected, and still not overly so, not so much that he felt uncomfortable. He suspected the low-key environment was all because of the fact that this hotel - so far - was the only one on the resort. More hotels were being built at this very moment, but right now Hotel Pyramid was the only one, and had to accommodate all kinds of guests, both the filthy rich and guests such as himself, who didn’t have money coming out of their ears. 

It was actually one of Hephaiston's Resort’s biggest sales arguments, that it aimed its PR toward all kinds of customers, and that everyone was welcome here, regardless of financial situation. They weren't discriminating anyone.

When he arrived to his cabin, it was late at night and Alex was tired, so he decided to start the evening by trying out the admittedly large, comfortable bed. Then, tomorrow, he’d get an early start. 

 

Richard and Nick

The resort really was an oasis. Richard had chosen a bungalow by the beach. He figured if he was to take a vacation for the first time in over a decade, he might as well do it right. If he indeed found someone he wanted to spend time with, he’d rather do it in the privacy of something that was as close to his own place as he could get while on vacation, than in an impersonal hotel room. 

The sand on the beach was the really fine, white stuff that glistened in the sun so much that it almost hurt to look at, and the water was bluer than the sky itself. Richard thanked the hotel employee who had driven him to his bungalow in the beach buggy, obviously used for that express purpose, and gave him a generous tip. The man smiled at him with even, white teeth and Richard found himself smiling back. He was attractive in a buff, but not overly aggressive, way. 

“I’m Nick, Nick Harrelson. If you need anything, you just let me know. There’s a phone inside the door to the right. Hit the zero and you’ll get to the front desk. Ask for me and I’ll be right here. Anything you need can be found in the pamphlet by the telephone as well.” 

Richard nodded. 

“Thanks,” he said with a genuine smile. 

Of course, he realized that Nick was only so accommodating because he’d given him a nice tip, but still, Nick Harrelson seemed likeable enough and he was nice to look at, so why not encourage him? Nick was tall, and muscular, with an angular face and a crew cut. His eyes were so blue they could rival the ocean and he had a winning smile. In fact, Richard wondered what a man like him was doing, working at a hotel like this. Nick Harrelson looked like he should be part of the police force or perhaps as though he should be working as a security guard somewhere... 

Richard smiled at himself. He knew how easy it was to make snap judgements about people. Who wouldn’t love to work at a place like this, where you’d never be looked oddly upon for being gay, where you could walk down to the beach at the end of your work-shift and take a nice swim in the ocean?

“I’ll call for you if I need anything,” Richard said finally, and nearly blushed when Nick grinned invitingly and lifted an eyebrow. That's when Richard realized how blatantly he’d been checking the other man out. Was this all it took? Get him to a beach and a resort and he’d drop all the defences he’d kept around himself his whole life?

As though realizing how uncomfortable Richard felt all of the sudden, Nick only nodded, jumped back into the beach buggy and drove off. Richard remained where he was, looking after Nick until the car disappeared behind the palm trees that made up a virtual forest between the bungalows and the hotel itself. 

He'd ended up on a nice place, Richard decided, and wondered what he’d do with himself next. Now that he was here, his plan didn’t stretch any further. He’d been so focused on actually getting here that he had spared hardly a thought of what to do when he finally arrived. The whole situation made him feel anxious, but he forced the feeling away and went inside. 

The bungalow wasn’t very large. It had a small kitchenette, which was nicely equipped with a small stove with two burners, a tiny refrigerator and a microwave. There were a few cupboards, a workbench and, of course, a sink. The doors were made of a dark wood and even the floors were wood and as Richard kicked his shoes off he sighed contentedly. The floor was smooth and cool against his bare feet. 

Walking further into the small hut, he carried the bags into the bedroom. For obvious reasons, it wasn’t very big either, but the bed inside took up most of the space. He actually wondered how they had managed to get it inside. Had they practically built the houses around the furniture? Richard smiled at the thought and left the bags right inside the room while he went to explore further. There wasn’t much else, except a small living room with a television set and a VCR plus a couch that looked incredibly soft and comfortable. Two of the walls were pretty much made of large French windows and outside there was a small patio. Richard thought he might enjoy this place. 

He walked back to the hallway and found the glossy pamphlet that Nick had mentioned. It was probably quite useful for those who were there to party, and he might enjoy some of the things there some other day, but tonight he'd just try to relax and enjoy the fact that he didn't have to work. Despite that, he leafed through the brochure. There was information about the hotel itself - informing about massages, workout areas, boating expeditions, sailing, surfing, fishing trips or mountain hiking. There was also information about where to go and how to get there and what to do once you did get where you wanted to go. And at the back of the pamphlet was information about the nightlife and all the clubs. Richard swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. Men, half-naked with sultry eyes stared back at him. 

These were probably the most explicit images he’d ever seen in regards to gay love. And even he had to admit that the pamphlet was nothing but classy and discrete. He wasn’t repulsed by the images by any means. He stopped and turned the pages back to one of the images. Two beautiful men were holding each other, kissing, and despite the fact that they were fully dressed, it was erotic. Perhaps his reaction was so strong only because he hadn’t seen many things like this before. He’d avoided gay porn or even mentions of gayness like the plague. Once, he'd accidentally turned on the TV when Queer As Folk was showing. Two men, an awfully young, blond male and an older, dark haired, slender guy had been going at it like dogs. He'd switched the channel immediately but it had taken days for him to get those images out of his head. And even though he had a computer and did surf the Internet on occasion, he had never allowed himself to browse the gay sites. If he didn’t acknowledge his needs and desires, they weren't there. At least that was what he had kept telling himself all of his life, and now... look at him, trying to turn his life around in just a few measly hours. What was he doing here? Changing a lifetime of denial and avoidance wouldn’t happen just by going to a place like this. It wouldn’t make him feel better simply because his father and mother were no longer alive to be ashamed of him. The shame was inside him and wouldn't go away just because other men didn't seem to suffer from the same. He should go back home. 

Then the panic subsided again, and he relaxed. He’d made the decision to change his life and by god, that was what he was going to do. What better place to do it than here?

He went through the pamphlet for more substantial and immediate information once more and he found that he could either go to the hotel to get something to eat, or he could go to the small “town” and buy what he would need. Since that in itself felt familiar enough, he decided to go stock up on some things he would need and cook for himself. He could just pick up some breakfast food for tomorrow morning, a few beers and maybe a bottle of wine and something to make for dinner. It was fairly late in the day, and he was tired, so he decided to save everything else for the next day. Maybe he would be able to work up some courage, and get himself to go out for some fun the following day? 

Connor

Connor arrived at the hotel early in the night and he was jazzed. It was great to be out of the office and even better to finally be able to do something fun. He decided to change clothing immediately, happy to be back at the resort. He pulled out his favourite pair of pants from the bag. Wrinkle-free of course, and the blazer. Shedding his other clothes, letting them fall to the floor without a second thought, he strolled over to the hotel-bar. Yes, it was stocked with his favourite whiskey. He poured himself a glass, and enjoyed the burning sensation as the amber liquid slid silkily down his throat. It was the good stuff. Only the good stuff was good enough for Connor Kian anyway. 

He grinned to himself, feeling really pleased that he’d known to buy stock in this place long before it was a spot on the social map of all homosexual men. It was now beginning to really hit it off, and he was also a major stockholder in the lesbian equivalent to this place that was being built only a few hundred miles away, at this very moment. He’d laughed when he heard the name of the place. Cleopatra’s Palace. Was Cleopatra actually a lesbian, Connor wondered idly, but let go of the thought. How cared anyway? It sounded cool enough, and the guys behind these ideas really seemed to have a soft spot for historical figures. But whatever. If it worked, it worked. They could have named it the Lesbian Lair or the Dyke Dungeon for all he cared. On the other hand, he wasn’t so sure he’d gone to the resort if they’d named it the Gay Grotto, so perhaps the name had some value? 

He looked at himself in the mirror, pleased. Didn't he look simply perfect? Oh yes! He knew that his freakishly pale eyes sometimes made people uncomfortable around him, but he eliminated that problem by putting on a pair of sunglasses. That upped his coolness by a factor of ten, and then he berated himself for sounding like a teenager. 

But he needed the glasses - at first. Once he’d met a guy, and charmed the socks – or more – off of him, he usually took them off. If they left then, he knew he had lost nothing. If they stayed.... well, he knew they’d not be sorry. 

He shrugged on the black blazer and smoothed it down. He wore his black slacks and a black shirt. He knew black made him look striking, especially with the sunglasses and the short hair that was barely more than stubble at the moment. One last look in the mirror and he grabbed the keys to the car, and left the hotel. Tonight, he was going to have fun!

Alex and Richard

Oh, it had so been worth the extra money. It really had. Alex never liked hotel rooms. They were so impersonal and the hotel was a whole 200 yards further from the beach than the bungalows. Alex laughed to himself, 200 yards might as well have been a light year at this point. And the bungalows were built in what could not have been described as anything but an oasis, with palm trees all around and a swimming pool in the centre, and the ocean only a stone’s throw from the bungalows.

Alex grinned impishly. Well, if you were going to be utterly lazy for an entire week, you might as well do it right. He’d even bribed that guy, Nick, into getting some groceries for him. Alex might not be filthy rich, but he could spend a few extra dollars on comfort when he finally went on vacation, couldn’t he? At least he didn’t have a picky Robert around telling him not to spend money on unnecessary stuff. Robert should talk. He’d spent hundreds of dollars on clothes each fucking month.

Alex sneered and threw his bag on the ridiculously large bed, and opened the suitcase with an irritated flick of his hand. Then he caught himself. Why even spend even a microsecond thinking about Robert? Dumping him was Robert’s loss. He was the one who'd left Alex - and good riddance! Think about Robert in the cold, autumn town he’d just left. Think about Robert in the rain and the smog. Think about Robert.... On second thought. Don’t think of Robert. At all. 

Alex pulled out his swimming trunks and grimaced. They’d been given to him by his sister as a gag a few months ago, but he’d brought them along when he realized they were the only swimming trunks he had. He could always buy a new pair one of these days. But until then he would have to make do. He held the trunks up to look at them again. They were a screaming fluorescent pink and tighter than anything else Alex had ever worn before. More like hot pants really. Thank god that he at least was tanned or he’d look terrible in these things. Spending the summer running with Robert on every second of spare ... shit, he wasn’t going to think about Robert. But the running had paid off, he had to admit. Pulling on the swimming trunks hastily, he left the bungalow without a backwards glance. He walked past the neighbour’s bungalow and noticed the guy on the patio. He looked like he was preparing dinner for himself. The guy was a good deal older than Alex, maybe in his late forties, with thick, a bit overly long, ash-blond hair that was brushed away from his face. He had a decent body, and when the guy looked up, Alex decided he didn’t look half bad either. Maybe a little tired, but wasn't that why they were all here? To rest and have some fun? 

“Hi,” Alex said. 

“Hi,” answered the older guy. His voice was unusually deep and very pleasant and Alex became intrigued. At first he’d only intended to say a polite hello, but now decided to try and strike up a conversation. He’d never gone out with anyone who was so much older than himself. Perhaps it was time to try something new? 

“Just got here?” he asked. 

“Yes,” the older man said. “You too?” 

His accent was different. British, Alex thought. 

“Yeah, I just arrived a few minutes ago. Figured I’d try out the water before getting something to eat. 

“Sounds nice,” said the older guy politely reached out to shake Alex's hand. “I’m Richard. Richard Stevenson.”

“Alex Martin,” Alex replied and took the offered hand. Richard’s handshake was firm and strong and he looked directly into Alex’s eyes, and yet, for some strange reason, Alex could have sworn that Richard was a little uncomfortable. Perhaps he was nervous? 

“First time here?” he asked. 

“That obvious, huh?,” said Richard ruefully, but didn't give Alex much chance to answer before continuing . “It's my first time ever at anything remotely like this, I admit.” 

“So, you going to eat right now or would you like to join me for a swim first?” 

Richard looked uncertain, but then he nodded. “I’ll join you for a swim. The food is very simple anyhow. I was only going to make a light salad.” And then he seemed to realize what he’d just said. “Maybe you would care to join me – after the swim?” 

Alex smiled. He liked Richard, instantly. He seemed to be rather polite and unassuming, but it was a welcome change from Robert who had been very demanding and rather dominating in subtle, and very annoying ways. Alex mentally kicked himself for thinking about Robert again.

“Thank you, I’d love to,” Alex said. 

“Wait for me. I’ll be right back.” Richard said and disappeared into his bungalow. Alex leaned against the trunk of one of the palm trees outside. It was pleasantly warm, even in the shade, even though it wasn’t in the middle of the day and even though a slight breeze wafted from the ocean. Alex had a feeling he was going to love this place. For the first time he didn’t worry about being here alone, or about not having anyone to share the whole experience with. If things worked out the way he hoped, he had at least made a new ... acquaintance with someone who was also here alone, looking for some company, even if it was only over a friendly dinner. 

“All right, I am ready to go,” Richard said as he got came out of the bungalow. He was wearing a very discrete, black pair of swimming trunks.

“These were a gift from my sister, as a gag,” Alex explained with an apologetic smile. “I apologize in advance for any pain I may cause you for socializing with a person wearing these.”

“They suit you,” Richard said calmly. Then he seemed to catch himself and looked away. 

“Hey,” Alex said and reached out to touch Richard’s arm lightly. Richard turned to look at him. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” Richard said and seemed to relax. 

As they reached the beach and made themselves comfortable on the sands underneath the relative shade of a palm tree, Alex realized fairly quickly that Richard really hadn’t been lying when he said he’d never been to Hephaiston's Resort before. Or that he’d never been to anything remotely like it either. He looked away in embarrassment when he saw two guys next to them, kissing openly. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Alex said. 

“Seems like you already have,” Richard replied, but there was no rebuttal in his voice, merely a little teasing. 

“It’s kind of personal, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, very well. Ask me. I believe I know what it might be anyway,” Richard said. 

“Have you ever, you know...?” Alex said sweeping out with his arm toward the kissing couple. 

Richard sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Then he leaned back on his towel.   
“Is it that obvious?” he asked. 

“Well, I guess you want me to be honest.”

Richard just shot him a look. 

“Yeah, it’s kind of obvious. So why are you here? I mean if you’ve never...” Alex cut himself off. “Geeze, listen to me. I’m always like this. I ask questions and stick my nose in where it’s not wanted. I apologize, Richard. You’ll just have to tell me to shut up if I get too annoying.” 

“No, it’s okay,” Richard said. “I’ve... known I wasn’t like all other guys since I was little, but my family is very conservative.”

“I see.” And Alex did see. His father had never been comfortable with the fact that his son was queer. And their family situation hadn’t been the best as it was. His father was a drunken asshole and his mom was a drunken housewife, who never quit whining. Daddy Martin had struck Alex black and blue on many occasion for his “freakishness”. It hardly made matters better. 

“I never told anyone. I even got married, and I have a wonderful daughter named Roxanne, but Candice.... well, she could never give me what I really wanted, if you know what I mean.” There was nothing insinuating about his comment, rather a shy statement of fact. 

Richard leaned back on the towel and threw an arm over his eyes, as though he wanted to hide. And perhaps he did. Alex decided to be honest, and open. Perhaps he could help Richard. He seemed so out of his element. 

“Yeah, I know. Women are nice and I’ve got lots of good, female friends, but they never did anything for me, sexually. At all.” 

“No, and the marriage just didn’t work, but I remained good friends with Candice until she died a few years ago. Watching her slip away in cancer was tough. She was my best friend."

"So why did you change your mind, and come here now?" Alex asked, belatedly remembering that he hadn't intended to be so nosy. But Richard didn't seem to mind. 

"I'd been debating telling my daughter the truth for months, maybe even years, and a couple of weeks ago, she showed up at the restaurant where we were having lunch with this pamphlet about Hephaiston's Resort in her hands. She told me she’d known for ages. Apparently I wasn’t as good at hiding it as I thought I had been.”

“Or maybe your daughter just knows you better than most,” Alex pointed out softly. 

“Maybe. Anyway. She bought me the tickets and practically threw me on the plane with a gun to my head and told me not to come home until I’d bent my head around the truth and accepted the fact that I’m... gay.”

“Still have trouble saying it out loud, huh?” Alex said. 

“Yeah, I admit it’s not easy.” 

“Come on,” Alex said. “Let’s go swimming for a while.”

Richard nodded and followed him to the beach, and Alex spent the next half hour enjoying the water and talking to Richard about things that weren’t so intimate. He found himself content seeing the older man relax and seem to enjoy himself. The lines in Richard’s face became softer and he was quick to laughter once he forgot himself and where he was. Alex felt good about himself and realized a while later, that he hadn’t thought much about Robert at all. 

When they were tired of the sun and the water, they walked back together toward the bungalow.

Kennet and Corey

“Look at him. It seems like he’s picked someone up already,” Corey said bitterly. 

Kennet tried not to whack his friend. His very annoying friend. 

“What did you expect? He’s alone on a place like this. He’s hot, he’s single and he’s out to find someone. Of course he’s going to be talking to someone else. It’s not like they’re making out. Look at him. He seems kind of uncomfortable actually and he’s not even touching that other guy. Stop acting like a child and do something about it.”

“I can’t do something now,” Corey said. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi Mr. Stevenson. Fancy meeting you here’.” 

“Well, it’s much better than just moping around, feeling sorry for yourself. Richard is after all the reason you’re here, and you can’t let someone else just snatch him away from under your nose. Right?” 

He and Corey had been sitting in the sun for hours, watching the bungalow where Richard Stevenson had arrived, waiting for him to come out, and pretty much the moment he did, some guy struck up a conversation with him, before Corey had even risen from the towel he was sitting on. Of course, Kennet had told him to go there and knock, but oh no, that wasn't Corey's style. Kennet sighed. 

“I feel like a fucking stalker,” Corey sighed and slumped down on the beach. “And I bet if he sees me, he’ll think you and I are a couple, just because we’re sharing a bungalow.”

“Hey, if that’s how you feel, I’m going to find some sexy little thing, pick him up and kiss him senseless right under Richard Stevenson’s nose.”

Shouldn't be too difficult, Kennet thought and smiled invitingly toward a sexy, blond guy who just passed by. Unfortunately the blond seemed to be taken already. Now that might be problem, Kennet thought and sighed inwardly. 

“You’d do that?” Corey asked.

“Yep, anything for my friends. Now come on, Corey. Don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Let’s just have some fun, and see what happens, okay?”

At that moment Richard Stevenson, and that pretty young thing he was talking to, rose and left the beach. 

“Now what?” Corey said. “We just got here. Fuck this. I’m not going to bother with that teacher of mine. At least not right now. Let’s go see if the water’s as pleasant as it seems to be.” 

“Hear, hear,” Kennet said tiredly and followed his friend. He scratched his head thoughtfully and wondered what in God’s name he should do to get Corey and Richard to at least talk to each other. The way Corey acted, nothing would ever happen. Corey had been moping around since school started after summer, pining for Richard Stevenson like a lovesick teenager – acting just as skittishly as one too. He acted as though he’d never fucked a guy before in his life, and Kennet knew for a fact that wasn’t the case. But he had to do something to move this along. Corey was definitely not fun being around when he was like that. 

So, what to do? What to do? Maybe the first order of business should be to lure the attention of Richard Stevenson’s companion elsewhere? That wouldn’t be much of a hardship.... Kennet smiled. 

“Hey, I see that. I see that. You’re planning something, you conniving little son of a....”

And he was dunked into the water mercilessly. He came up laughing and the chase was on.


	4. First Kiss

"First Kiss"

Jake and Brandon

Brandon had left right after their little get-together. He’d said nothing really, just gotten dressed and left, and Jake hadn’t tried to stop him. He hadn’t known what to do or what to say. Now that they had fucked, he could obviously think clearly again. Jake rose from the bed and smacked his hand into the wall in frustration. He and Brandon had been friends for years. Why hadn't he seen this one coming until now? How come he hadn’t seen how Brandon really felt, and avoided this? How could he let himself go to bed with Brandon even with the inkling of suspicion that there was anything else going on than a simple buddy-fuck? He really didn’t want to lose Brandon as a friend, and ... fuck! 

Jake pulled his clothes back on. This really sucked, because he should have known. He should have seen that Brandon had feelings for him. And if he had, he probably wouldn’t have gone with Brandon here, would he? Jake forced himself to examine his reactions to Brandon. Now, he’d always worked under the assumption that they were just friends, and that when they did fuck it was more of a thing you did for a horny friend than anything more. Now that he knew that it meant more to Brandon, maybe he should ask himself if there could be more for him as well. They had dated for a short period of time, but never had anything exclusive going. That relationship had sort of ... drifted into nothing. Maybe ... What if that hadn’t been what Brandon wanted, even then? 

God, what a mess? Jake thought. What a fucking old mess. 

What should he do now? Should he go out and try to find Brandon? Or should he just leave the room and be gone when Brandon got back? Should he try to find somewhere else to stay? He was at a loss. Finally, he decided to wait, to see if Brandon would come back. 

It was midnight before Jake crawled into bed and turned off the lights, trying to go to sleep. He couldn't of course. Thoughts kept churning in his head until he heard the door open. Then he could finally relax. By then it was three o’clock and pitch black outside. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hey,” said Brandon. “Leave the lights turned off.” His voice was rough and a little shaky as though he had either been crying or as though he was nervous. Jake couldn’t really tell. Either way, the sound turned his stomach into a knot. 

“Okay. You want to talk?” he asked gently. 

“Not really, but – I think we should. This isn’t working for me.”

“I kind of figured.” 

It was both comfortable and scary at the same time, lying there in the dark, easier to talk when he didn’t have to look at Brandon. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked finally. 

“I don’t know. I figured if I just kept quiet about it, it would sort of solve itself. I was afraid this might happen if I said anything. I know you don’t care about me that way...”

And that’s when it really hit Jake. It hit him that he wasn’t all that sure what he felt. 

“I don’t know, Brandon. You really took me by surprise. I didn’t think... You’re always so easy going and seem to take everything to do with sex so fucking lightly. I never realized that you might be interested in more than just a roll in the hay once in a while. I guess maybe I should have seen it, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault, Jake,” Brandon said roughly. “The sad part is that you’re right. I do take it lightly, most of the time. I walk in with both eyes open and fuck my brains out. Then I walk away without a backwards glance. But I never could do that with you. Never could and never will, so I think it’s better if we just call it quits. We cut this off right now and go back home.” 

Jake bit his lip. If that was what Brandon really wanted...

Richard and Alex

Richard enjoyed Alex’s company. He seemed like a rather simple person - in the best way possible. He was open and kind and told it like it was. There didn't seem to be any pretence and no lies. That personality was refreshing after living a life where you hid your true self to everyone around you. And for what? For fear of being rejected, for fear of being ridiculed and frowned at? What difference did it make if you never showed yourself for who you truly were? If you didn’t show your true feelings and opinions, nobody could love the real you. Even Roxanne, his daughter, didn’t really know him. Not the way Alex seemed to be getting to know him, slowly but surely, over the course of the evening. The problem was that although he liked Alex, Richard had come to realize that he wasn’t really that attracted to him. He’d always been drawn to the sinewy type, whereas Alex was tall and broad. Muscular and attractive enough, for sure, but not really his type. 

Richard had to laugh at himself. He hadn’t even known that he had a type. 

“What’s so funny?” Alex asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” Richard said, and looked at Alex kindly. 

“Oh, come on, Richard. I think I know you by now. You’re afraid of telling me. You’re afraid of hurting my feelings?”

Richard looked into the half-full glass of red wine he was still sipping from after their shared meal. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “I like you, Alex. I even like you a lot, but ...” 

“But you’re not really attracted to me,” Alex said softly, and rose from his chair. He came over to Richard and crouched in front of him. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m sorry you don’t want anything but friendship from me, Richard, but I understand. I’m just glad we had a chance to get to know each other, and I’ve really enjoyed this evening. I hope we can see each other again.” 

“Oh, we’ll see each other. I’d even enjoy sharing my meals with you, Alex. I just want to be honest.” 

“So, you don’t find me even remotely attractive?”

“Yes, I do,” Richard said honestly. “But I don’t think I want to rush into anything with anyone without really feeling like it’s what I want.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Alex said. “Just let me be your first kiss?”

Richard felt the blush warm his cheeks and he kept looking into the glass. First kiss. He wanted to say that it wasn't really his first kiss, but he knew what Alex meant, and he wanted that. If for no other reason than the fact that he really liked Alex, and felt totally comfortable with him. The mere thought of kissing someone – a man – for the very first time scared him. It made him feel sick, but the idea of kissing Alex ... that was okay, that was fine. That was safe and ... even something he could enjoy without the fear. 

“All right,” he said a little breathlessly, and he put the glass of wine on the table. Alex rose and pulled him up. 

They were standing close, really close, and Richard inhaled deeply. There was a knot in the pit of his stomach, and his palms were suddenly moist. He closed his eyes and wanted to gather his wits, but Alex simply put his hands around his face. The large, warm and dry hands held him very carefully. 

“Okay?” Alex whispered. 

“Okay,” Richard said, a little shakily and then, there it was. The first kiss from a man. 

Alex's warm, soft lips pressed against his tenderly. It wasn’t like any other kiss Richard had ever gotten. Maybe not so much in the feel of the lips as the feel of the man doing the kissing. Alex was a good deal taller than himself so he had to tilt his head a little to be able to kiss back, and Alex was broader and so much stronger than any woman. And there was stubble involved, Richard realized. Not much, but a little, and the scratchy feeling was truly alien to him, but felt rather nice. The kiss deepened and Richard allowed it, revelling in the feel of the other man’s lips and tongue playing with his own. He really enjoyed the sensation of arousal that was spreading through him. For the first time in his life Richard felt a true and very strong surge of want. Not for Alex personally, but for the fact that it was a man who was kissing him. For the first time the kiss felt like something he’d like to continue, felt like something he actually wanted, something that aroused him. He moaned softly against Alex lips and Alex pulled back. 

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered. “I didn’t mean to get you all hot and bothered.”

“It’s okay,” Richard said. “Maybe I do want this after all?” He wasn’t sure, but he was more open to the idea than he had been before Alex had kissed him, but Alex just pulled back and removed his hands from Richard’s face. 

“No,” he said with a smile. “I don’t think so. I like you, Richard. I even like you a lot, and I wouldn’t mind being your friend. But to be honest, I don’t really think either of us wants more from each other. At least not right now. So, we’ll see each other in the morning.” 

Richard nodded. 

“Thanks, Alex,” he said. “Good night.” 

“Good night.” 

And Alex left. 

Corey and Richard

Corey saw Alex leave, and drew a deep sigh of relief. It wasn’t all that late, and Richard and Alex hadn’t been inside the bungalow for very long, so nothing really heavy could have happened between them – yet. And Kennet had said that Richard hadn’t seemed all that grabby around Alex. Perhaps nothing had happened between them? 

Knowing that, he’d have to take the chance once it presented itself, Corey stepped onto Richard’s patio and knocked lightly on the glass door. Inside, Richard stood with his back turned to the door. Corey saw the older man jump slightly at the sound of his knuckles rapping against the glass. 

When Richard finally turned around, there was surprise on his face. Surprise and ... Corey couldn’t make it out. He’d probably expected Alex. Corey’s stomach turned into a tight knot of jealousy. 

“Corey!” he said. “What are you doing here?” There was surprise, but also some measure of satisfaction in Richard’s voice. Corey took that as a good sign. 

“I saw you on the beach this evening, but you were busy. I thought I’d come by later tonight to say hi, but maybe this isn’t a good time?” He was ridiculously nervous and licked his lips to alleviate the sudden dryness. 

“No, no it’s fine, come in.” Richard extended his hand in a welcoming gesture. “I’m just surprised to see you, that’s all. Especially ... here.”

Corey smiled. Apparently he wasn't the only one with a rotten gaydar. It felt rather nice knowing that Richard obviously didn't always pin point the gay ones either. “Imagine my surprise. I didn’t know you were ... “

“Gay?” Richard said with a raised eyebrow. 

“No, exactly. I thought you were married.” Corey could have kicked himself. Richard was probably bi. It wasn't exactly unheard of... 

“Yes, I was married at one point, but as it turns out, that was a big mistake,” Richard said and crossed his arms over his chest, as though to ward himself from danger. Corey narrowed his eyes. Richard was nervous, but why? “So, what brings you here?” Richard said finally, obviously trying to keep the edge out of his deep voice, and not quite succeeding. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something. It’s fairly important.” 

Corey didn’t know where to begin. How did you come out to your teacher and tell him you’d been having sexy dreams about him for weeks? How did you do that and survive? How else could you go about the whole thing?

“I’m listening,” Richard said patiently. 

“I really don’t know where to start,” Corey admitted. 

“At the beginning, perhaps?” Richard said and seemed to relax a little. Corey’s own nervousness seemed to lessen the older man's unease. “If it has anything to do with classes, I think it could wait,” Richard pointed out softly. 

“No, nothing to do with school, Mr. Stevenson.” Now that was really awkward. He stood here in the middle of Richard's bungalow at nine PM on a Sunday evening, trying to explain that he lusted after him and they weren’t even on a first name basis ... “No,” Corey said, more to himself. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“Call me Richard, Corey,” Richard invited softly, “And sit down if you want.”

Corey was grateful for Richards kindness. It was obvious his teacher was trying to make him feel more at ease, but Corey was too nervous to sit. The same seemed to be true for Richard as well, because he, too, remained standing, looking at Corey with an odd expression on his face. The thick, ash-blond hair hung a little unruly over his eyes, and Corey wondered if Alex had kissed Richard, if he’d run his fingers through that thick hair. That was something he'd longed to do for so long. He truly loved Richard's slightly ruffled appearance, but it also made him jealous as all hell. He looked away, afraid that his inappropriate feelings would be plainly obvious on his face, but the words that came out of his mouth made that action superfluous. 

“Are you seeing that man who just left here?” Corey blurted out and the surprise on Richard’s face couldn’t have been more blatant if Corey had said he was really a woman. 

“I don’t see ... " Richard caught himself and the grey eyes narrowed a little as the truth dawned on . him. Corey swallowed and blinked. "Oh,” Richard’s face showed almost a comical understanding when the light bulb went on. “Oh,” he repeated, ran his hand across his face, as though the action would wipe away the fog in his mind and make his thoughts clearer. 

“Yes. Oh,” said Corey pointedly, and turned his back to Richard. He was going to die. But when Richard didn’t say anything he turned around again and Richard was standing at the exact same spot, his face closed up. 

“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” Corey said. He really was beginning to regret it. Had he ruined every chance of having some kind of relationship with Richard Stevenson by coming in here, blurting out his undying love – well nearly anyway – and scaring the man half to death, or making him repulsed or ... Corey swallowed. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” agreed Richard. 

“But I couldn’t stay away,” Corey said pleadingly. “I had to take a chance. I ... I have wanted you for a very long time, and seeing you here ...” 

Richard seemed taken aback by that bold admission, and his face closed up even more, but now, Corey wondered why those shutters went down. If he’d been totally disinterested, Richard would have just asked him to leave immediately, wouldn’t he?

“I’m your teacher,” Richard pointed out. 

Corey licked his lips nervously. A jolt of hope shot through him when Richard's eyes followed the action and his pupils dilated. 

“Is that the only reason I shouldn’t be here?” Corey asked, and tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing Richard closely. He looked uncertain and a little scared. “Because if it is, I’ll quit your class the very moment I get back home.”

“No! I can’t let you do that.” His eyes flew open in astonishment and he seemed genuinely disturbed by the mere thought. 

“Oh, yes, you can. And you will,” Corey said, gaining confidence as he realized that Richard had said nothing about not wanting this, about not wanting him. “If that’s the only reason why I’m not right there in front of you, kissing you senseless--” Richard gasped, but Corey went on uninterrupted. “--I will quit your class. I’ll quit the school if I have to. I don’t care. I’m only studying to get ahead anyway. I can do that anywhere. But ... I can’t find you anywhere else, Richard,” Corey said and blushed. God, he sounded like a romance novel, but this had been eating away at him for months, and now that he was so close to what he wanted, he just needed to get it all out on the table.

“Good God, Corey,” Richard said with trembling voice. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

Corey took one step closer to Richard, slowly, as though afraid to scare him away, but the need to do something was impossible to resist. 

“May ... may I kiss you?” he asked. 

Richard swallowed noisily, his pupils widening significantly. He didn't answer at once, and Corey could see the battle raging behind his eyes. Suddenly he wished he hadn't asked, but then Richard seemed to finally make up his mind and he nodded. “Yes, Corey. Please do.”

Corey stepped into Richard’s personal space, his legs feeling wobbly all of the sudden. He looked at the man he’d been fantasizing about for so long and he was close enough to touch. Not only that - but the man that he was finally allowed to touch. He reached out and brushed his fingertips lightly against Richard’s face. He smelled of sun lotion and chlorine and underneath it all, he smelled like himself. Corey drew a deep breath, savouring the scent, thinking that he'd never smelled anything so delicious in his life. 

“God, Corey,” Richard whispered as though voice of reason was trying to make an appearance. “I’m old enough to be your father.” 

“I don’t care, Richard,” Corey said breathlessly. “I want you. You’re the most attractive man I’ve ever met.” Standing there in a pair of off-white shorts, and a plain, black t-shirt, with his hair unruly and still a little damp from his swim earlier in the evening, Richard really was the most attractive man Corey had seen. “Talk to me, Richard,” Corey whispered. 

Richard’s voice was warm like honey, deep and dark like the richest, smoothest chocolate, and Corey couldn’t wait to hear Richard lose his composure, and let his voice make any sounds of appreciation. 

“What do you want me to say?” Richard asked softly and a little breathlessly. They were close now, their lips only centimetres away from each other. Corey could feel Richard’s warm breath on his lips; he could smell the citrus of the lotion and see the laugh lines around his eyes and the corners of his lips. Richard’s mouth was open, as if in invitation, and Corey trembled a little at the realization that soon, soon they would share their first kiss. 

“Tell me you want me to kiss you,” Corey asked. 

“I just did.” 

“Tell me again,” Corey insisted. “Tell me you want it.”

“I do, I do want you to kiss me, Corey,” Richard said obligingly, and Corey nearly moaned at those words, but Richard caught the sound in his mouth as their lips met for the first time. Richards lips were warm and welcoming. Corey shivered and lifted his hands to Richard’s face, rubbing his thumbs over the stubble, loving the rough sensation of it against his fingertips. Richard groaned and put his arms around Corey, their bodies coming together for the very first time. 

“Yeah,” Corey said. “Hold me.” 

* * *

Richard's mind was jumbled and he had only one clear thought in his head - this kiss was nothing like the one he had shared with Alex. And still, in some ways, it was just like it. The warmth and the moisture of the lips and tongue caressing his were the same. Richard was surprised to realize that this time there was not even an inkling of fear or uneasiness. None of the fear that he’d expected to feel when he would kiss someone the next time, because Corey, too, was a person he knew – even better than Alex, in fact – and someone he trusted. It was a gift to find someone like that, here, someone who wanted him. More importantly, Corey had been one of the men he had felt attracted to before, an attraction that back home he had squashed and tried to forget. Now it roared to life unexpectedly and allowed him to enjoy the kiss even more.

Corey’s body was lean and sinewy against his, not tall and muscular like Alex's, and his hair was dark to the point of being black, his face chiselled in a way Alex’s hadn’t been. The younger man’s high cheekbones were prominent against Richard’s fingertips. He enjoyed the sensation of running his fingers through Corey’s hair. It felt like the finest silk as Richard caressed it. And Corey’s face was familiar. Richard realized that he had seen it like this before, so close. It had been in his dreams even though he had never admitted, or even realized it, until now. 

Corey continued to kiss him and deepened the kiss when Richard didn’t resist it. Instead, Richard encouraged the kiss, and moaned into Corey’s mouth as the flickers of desire rose steadily inside him – and fast. These feelings didn’t even compare to the slight awakening of want he’d felt in Alex’s arms. This was something entirely different, and he admitted to himself for the first time that he’d looked at Corey in class. He’d looked and he’d wanted. But he had never fantasized, never allowed himself to actually imagine what this could be like. 

Now all the feelings that tumbled through him were almost like an overload, as though the fuses were blowing all through his system. Something like electrical currents grew between them and careened wildly, and out of control. He grew hard, his cock pressing insistently against the fly of his shorts. That frightened him, and it exhilarated him at the same time. He grabbed Corey desperately, trying to get him to do ... something. 

“Corey,” he groaned and pulled the younger man closer. Hardness met hardness and Richard blanked. Corey’s reaction was equally intense. He pushed Richard up against the wall, so that a small painting fell to the floor. Richard didn't care. When he felt Corey against him, he was panting hard and asking himself what was happening. Corey’s lips moved from his mouth to his chin, down his throat. it felt like his body was tingling all over and this whole thing was spiralling out of control so quickly. But Richard wanted it, badly, with all of his being. Nothing he’d experienced in his life before had prepared him for this want. Nothing had ever felt like this. So out of control. So fucking good, so... pleasurable. He didn’t know such pleasure existed. 

“Corey,” he repeated now. Almost sobbing, begging and he didn’t know what he was begging for. He wanted... something. “Sweet Jesus, Corey,” he cried out as he felt a hand cupping him through his shorts. His body jerked toward that caress involuntarily. He wanted more, so much more and still, if he got more, he would .... Corey squeezed him and pressed the palm of his hand against Richard’s already leaking head, and it was nothing like when Richard did this to himself, it was nothing like when he and Candice had ... oh, he didn’t know how to fight the want, or how to even try and hold back when it was so good, so good. So.... 

He cried out and came, his body shuddering in intense pleasure in Corey’s arms. Clutching the younger man tightly, he realized he was crying. Corey was so beautiful and felt so good, and good grief, this was embarrassing, and hot ... and wonderful, all at the same time. 

“Shh,” Corey whispered in his ear, helping him down to the floor gently. “Shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Shh. It’s okay.” 

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Richard said, feeling like an old fool. 

“I’m flattered,” Corey said and smiled at him. “That was intense.”

“You have no idea,” Richard said. “No idea.” 

“If I’d known you’d react this way, I’d have tried it a lot sooner,” Corey joked. 

Richard looked at the younger man, who was now sitting beside him on the floor with one of his arms loosely wrapped around Richard's shoulders. He looked flushed and Richard soon realized that even though this had been the best orgasm of his life, Corey was still quite aroused, but he wasn’t quite prepared to offer to do something about that - not immediately anyway. He was shaking and felt as though he’d gone through something huge. Emotionally he was probably the worst mess Corey had ever seen. 

“I don’t think my response would have been as satisfying for either of us if you would have tried sooner, Corey,” he said. “I think if you had tried to seduce me back home, I would have shut you out completely. Other men have tried , probably picking up on my attraction to them, no matter how hard I’ve tried to hide it. I have been flattered by their attention, but I have also been frightened, and even though I found them attractive, I have always rejected them. I don’t think you would have been any exception.” Richard knew the words were true. Even though Corey was someone he was unusually attracted to, Richard knew himself well enough to realize that he would probably have reacted the same way to Corey as he would have to any other man.. 

“But why?” Corey asked. “Why did you reject those men?” 

And Richard told Corey the same things he’d told Roxanne only a few days ago, and Alex earlier that same day. The more he kept repeating his fears, the more manageable they seemed to become, and the more ridiculous. Again, he asked himself that same question. Why wasn’t he living the life he wanted, the life he needed, instead of conforming to what society and the people around him expected from him? He deserved to be happy. He deserved to enjoy life. Why couldn't he shake the fear? Or was he finally beginning to do it, after more than forty years?

“Come on,” Richard said and rose from the floor. He grimaced as he recognized the sensation of drying semen in his boxers. He laughed ruefully and looked at Corey. “I thought I just showered--” he said meaningfully. “--but it’s obvious I’ll have to do it all over again.”

“Would you like me to share it with you?” Corey said breathlessly.

Richard smiled. “Yes, come on.” 

He was still a little bit nervous , but he decided to push the anxiety away because this was something he really wanted. He’d gone to the resort to do this, and it was pure luck that he found his first time with another man to be with someone that he already knew and who cared so much about him already. 

He took Corey’s hand and together they walked into the small, but comfortable, bathroom. There was a WC, a basin, and a shower and that was about it. There was barely enough room for both of them to stand in there at the same time, but Richard didn't care. He smiled at Corey and pulled his clothes off quickly - and a little self-consciously - and turned around. Corey stood there silently, just watching him.

“God, I want you,” Corey said, and Richard didn’t know what to say. He felt like a blushing virgin. And despite his 47 years, and being close to twice as old as Corey – he was the virgin in this situation. Corey’s attitude was completely different and it was obvious to Richard that this was hardly his first relationship with a man. In some ways, he envied Corey his attitude, but at the same time he was grateful for it, because without it, he wouldn’t be here right now. Wouldn’t be ready to step into the shower with this gorgeous young man, who so evidently wanted him. 

“You are very brave,” Richard said and watched Corey as he began to undress. He was beautiful; a little taller than Richard himself, but not by much, and more slender in build. He wasn’t thin exactly, just wiry, the kind of sinewy strength that meant that Corey would bend, but not break, much like a willow tree. Richard had learned during these months that Corey had been his student that it was indicative of Corey’s personality as well. Granted, he didn’t know Corey all that well, but he had noticed that he would not allow people in his close proximity to push him around. Richard realized that was something he found incredibly attractive. 

“I’m not very brave,” Corey said. “I just...” He stopped and looked away, and for the first time this night, Richard really could see how young this man was. Despite his strength and determination, he was still insecure and a little shy. Passion had overtaken both of them out there in the living room. Now the intensity of it had abated somewhat, even for Corey, and the situation became a little awkward. 

“You are very brave,” Richard repeated softly. “I am glad that you are.” He moved toward Corey and decided it was time he took some form of initiative. Even though he was a beginner at this, he did have some knowledge of the mechanics, and it couldn’t be that much different from making love to Candice. 

How stupid a thought, Richard caught himself thinking. Of course it would be very different from Candice, for one very apparent reason. With Corey, he wouldn’t have to force himself to get hard. He wouldn’t have to work so much at becoming aroused. It would come naturally. That little incident in the living room had taken away his fears about that. 

But still there was something true about what he’d thought. Although Corey was a man, and Richard found him incredibly attractive, it couldn’t be all that different anyway. Corey would like to be touched, and caressed; he would appreciate hearing how sexy he was, just like Candice had. This time, the only difference would be that Richard would mean what he said; he would be honest with Corey. 

“Undress yourself,” Richard said gently, and he heard the roughness of his own voice. If it was nervousness or arousal, he wasn’t sure. Maybe a little bit of both?

He looked at Corey, allowing himself to really appreciate the view of an attractive man. All of his life he had tried to avoid looking at men as sexual objects. Of course, he was only human and he had sometimes not succeeded, and he had reacted, but he’d stifled the reaction as soon as it surfaced. He’d soon learned to do it reflexively. Now he didn’t. In fact, he hadn’t all day. Ever since he set foot on Hephaiston’s Resort, he had consciously tried not to stifle his reactions, but allow himself to look and to react. Now, for the first time, he allowed his desire to flow through him at the sight of Corey. So beautiful. He deliberately ran his gaze over Corey’s body, deliberately allowed his gaze to turn blatantly sexual, without shame or fear. 

Corey was dressed in a white, long-sleeved shirt, open halfway down to his sun-tanned, hairless chest, and a pair of black jeans that hugged his slim hips tightly. The longish, dark hair had fallen into his eyes and made him look a little dishevelled. It was a very beautiful look on Corey, Richard decided, and reached out to brush a stray link of hair out of his eyes. They were green and the pupils were dilated. 

“You’re beautiful,” Richard said and almost pulled his hand away. 

Corey followed his hand with his head and brushed against it like a cat that wanted to be petted. Richard accommodated him and cupped Corey’s cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over those high cheekbones. Corey’s own hands went to the buttons that still remained closed on his shirt and he started undoing them, slowly, and fumbling a little. His eyes were huge. It was quite endearing, Richard thought, and it was also something that made his own nervousness dissipate a little. They both wanted this even though they were both somewhat awkward. 

Perhaps another kiss would make things a little less so, Richard thought, and leaned forward to brush his lips against Corey’s. Corey moaned, stepping closer to him so that their bodies almost touched. 

“Damn, Richard,” Corey whispered. “It feels like I’ve been hard forever.” 

“Oh,” Richard whispered and blushed a little. He’d almost forgotten. He’d been so wrapped up in his own reactions and his own insecurities that he’d lost track of Corey and his reactions. “I’m sorry.”

Instead of drawing back and looking at Corey, he moved a little closer, brushing his lips against Corey’s throat and put his hand on the bulge of his jeans. He surprised himself at his boldness, but he wanted to do this. It was strange to feel another man’s erection, even though Corey was still clothed, but Corey’s stifled gasp was ample encouragement to make Richard take another chance. Moving his hand gently over the bulge, caressing a little harder, he moved his other hand to the button and undid it. The position wasn’t what he was used to and he fumbled a little before getting the zipper down, careful not to hurt Corey. He really was hard under there, and Richard understood that his fumbling touches probably didn’t make things any easier for Corey. 

Suddenly Corey’s hands were gripping his shoulders tightly. 

“Oh, Richard. Touch me. Please, touch me,” Corey begged. “I don’t want to lose control, but I don’t think I can help it. I’ve wanted this for too long.” 

Richard realized that Corey was afraid of scaring him off, driving him away if he lost control the way Richard himself had done earlier. But he wanted Corey to lose it, to find that same incredible pleasure that he had experienced. So he quickly helped divest Corey of his remaining clothes and then pulled the younger man into his arms and kissed him. Corey was panting now and Richard could feel himself hardening again. It surprised him. He couldn’t remember when that had happened last time. He’d always thought his libido wasn’t that strong, but he was obviously proven wrong by this aroused young man. Pulling impatiently at Corey’s clothes they helped each other in getting them off. 

When Corey was naked, Richard pulled away just a little, only enough to get a good look at the hard cock that he wanted to touch more than he’d expected. He lifted his gaze and met Corey’s eyes. Corey bit his lip, probably trying not to beg, not to be too demanding. Richard smiled and reached out for Corey, touching that hard, smooth length with his fingers. It didn’t feel much different from his own erection, maybe a little longer, and not as thick. He dragged his fingernails lightly along the soft skin, the way he liked it. His light touch provoked a full-body shudder and a strangled moan from Corey. Encouraged by the reaction, Richard wrapped his hand tighter around the entire length of Corey’s cock. 

“Oh yeah,” Corey moaned and thrust into his hand. 

“Go on,” Richard whispered and leaned forward, licking his way over Corey’s throat up to his ear. “Come on, fuck my hand, Corey.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Corey moaned. “Talk to me.”

Richard smiled. It wasn’t the first time he’d used his voice to make someone turned on. Candice had loved his voice as well, and the times when he really hadn’t been in the mood for sex, he had used it to his advantage and her enjoyment. 

“You’re so beautiful, Corey, so sexy and hot. Come for me,” he crooned and this time he meant every word. He couldn’t wait to see his lover lose it, couldn’t wait to feel Corey contract in a violent orgasm, knowing that he had caused it. He sped up his movements, and Corey pushed into the tight circle of his hands one last time and shuddered. Richard could feel the hot semen pulse against his stomach and over his fingers, but it was so welcome. He’d made Corey come. For the first time he’d had sex with another man, and he’d enjoyed it. In fact he’d enjoyed it more than anything else in his life. 

“Beautiful, Corey,” he said again. “So beautiful.”

“You too, Richard,” Corey whispered. “You too.” 

And what else could Richard do than pull Corey into his arms and kiss him?


	5. Speed Demon

Connor and Kennet

Connor wasn’t having fun. He distinctly remembered telling himself that he was going to have fun when he left the hotel, but the car he’d rented had broken down a few hundred fucking yards away from the Resort. He’d just decided to take her for a spin before heading to the Beat. And then the car had given up on him. 

Sure, he could just leave that little baby standing on the side of the road. He’d gotten no further than just above the fucking bungalows. He could walk back to the hotel in a minute flat, but he was still pissed off. Who the fuck was stupid enough to rent Connor Kian a car that was in such bad shape it gave up before he even reached the highway? Connor kicked the tire and looked at the car with an annoyed frown on his face. She was beautiful. She was one of the few ladies in this world he could learn to love. But right now she was really being a stubborn witch. He kicked the tire again just for good measure. 

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, and looked back at the hotel. Should he just leave the stupid car where it was, and then – 

“Hey, are you having trouble?” 

Connor turned around with a biting remark on his tongue, but he held it back the moment he saw who was talking.

 

Well, hello, tall, dark and handsome! 

 

Yeah, this guy fit the bill perfectly. He looked like he’d stepped out of the Playgirl centerfold. Wow. Except for the clothes. But Connor supposed the attire would fit a car technician or something – and wouldn’t that be ironic? 

“Yeah, my car seems to have decided to die on me a couple of yards from the hotel.” 

“Want me to take a look at her?” the young man offered. He really was a treat for the eyes, Connor decided, and calculated the odds of having a better time with this guy than with the crowd at the Beat. 

“I don’t know. Aren’t you going somewhere?” Connor asked. 

“Not really. I’m just staying out of the way of a friend of mine in case he gets lucky. I don’t want to blow his chances with this guy he’s had the hots for as long as I can remember ...” 

“Sounds like a just cause," Connor said and wondered if that guy would like to get lucky as well. He wouldn't mind hearing that lush mouth spill some dirty language. Did this guy even know any dirty words? He was a strange mixture of innocence and pure sex. The best kind, Connor decided. 

“I guess. Corey certainly thought so,” the young man said and flashed him a smile that lit up his face. It did strange things to Connor’s insides. 

“If you fix the car, would you like to take her for a spin? I was going to the Beat, but if she gives up on me again, I might get stranded much further from civilization,” Connor said and shot the young man a wide, and promising grin. Might be best not to be too subtle... . 

“Sure, that’d be fun. Especially if you’d let me drive her.” 

“I take it you do have a driver’s license?” Connor teased. 

“Yes, I do have a driver’s license", the younger man said, a little petulant. 

“And you haven’t wrecked any expensive cars?” Connor hoped the other wouldn't ask how many expensive cars he had wrecked over the years. 

“Not lately", he answered. 

“I’m Connor Kian,” Connor said and held out his hand. His life saver smiled that brilliant smile again and took his hand. His grip was tight and dry, and their eyes met. Connor's stomach did a flip flop. This guy had some strange hold over him already. It was unsettling. Still, Connor could never resist a challenge, and he certainly couldn't resist that ass... 

“Kennet Karlsson,” he said. 

“Kennet. Not Kenneth?”

”Nope,” Kennet said. ”I’m from Sweden. Or at least I was born there, but my parents moved to the U.S. when I was just a few years old. 

“So, does that mean you speak Swedish?” 

“Yes, it means that I speak Swedish,” Kennet said. “Why?”

“I could always use a few words in Swedish. I travel a lot,” Connor said. 

“I bet I know what kind of words that is,” Kennet said as he came closer to the car. “Do you have any idea what's wrong with your car?" 

"It just stopped," Connor said carelessly. "I'm not very good with cars, except for driving them." - and crashing them, he added inwardly. 

"You do know how to open the hood, don't you?" Kennet teased, but there was no malice in his voice. 

"Yeah, I do know how to open the hood,” Connor said dryly, and slid in behind the wheel and did just that.

Kennet dove into the car. Connor remained where he was, hoping that Kennet wouldn't get himself too greasy or full of oil. He'd like to take this guy with him somewhere. They could... get to know one another. But if he got himself all dirty, he couldn't invite him into the car. It was a rental after all. 

"Find anything?"

"Yeah," Kennet said. "You know, this is a great car. It's a pleasure to get a look underneath the hood." 

Connor grinned. So, a car-buff? He'd never gotten it on with a car-buff before. Usually the men he hung out with were more sophisticated, one way or the other. Kennet seemed different from anyone he'd known. 

"Try now." 

Connor turned the ignition and the car spun to life like a contented cat. Impressive.

“So, do I get to try her out?” Kennet said and leaned against the roof of the car, looking inside with that brilliant grin on his face. And not a drop of oil on his fingers or clothes. How could Connor resist?. 

“Yeah, sure. Here,” Connor said and threw Kennet the car keys. He caught them without trouble. “Nice reflexes.” 

“Good reflexes are useful when you’re going to drive a car worth somewhere around a million.”

“I doubt it costs a million.” But Connor didn't know. He just bought the cars; he never actually looked at the price tags. 

“In Swedish currency, it does,” Kennet pointed out, and grinned. 

“Oh, right.” Connor opened the car door and shoved the sunglasses up on his head without thinking. Kennet slid into the driver’s seat and shot him a look. Then he froze. 

“Wow,” he said. 

Connor cursed silently. Had he blown his chances with this guy already, just by being thoughtless? That wasn’t really like him. He’d forgotten, and he never forgot. But this guy made him relax in a way that he’d not experienced in a long time. He even forgot to be his normal, charming self, forgot to play his advantages to the fullest before revealing his little oddity. Some people really did get freaked out when they saw his eyes. But Kennet didn’t look repulsed; he just stared at Connor in a way that wasn’t intrusive, or curious in that annoying way. Usually people staring at him like that made all of Connor’s skin itch, as though little insects crawled beneath it. 

“Your eyes are ... “ Kennet leaned forward to get an even closer look, and Connor found himself sitting still, scrutinizing Kennet’s face, looking into the incredibly blue, open eyes. Kennet must be a whole other species compared to him. He didn’t seem even the slightest bit fazed by the fact that he was staring, or the slightest bit disturbed by the eyes that Connor knew he could take advantage of in ways Kennet probably couldn’t even imagine. He had done so, many times, when he tried to get a better deal. Some of the people he’d been with had told him that his eyes looked cold and dead. 

“They’re what?” Connor asked patiently, not revealing in any way the anxiety he suddenly felt inside. He pushed it away. Connor Kian didn’t care what people thought of him, and never had. The only reason he ever hid his eyes was because they sometimes repelled people he knew he might find useful. And that was the only reason he regretted revealing them so soon to this young man. Kennet. Well, he could have many uses for Kennet, he thought as his eyes took in the full lips. Those lips, wrapped around his...

“They’re beautiful,” Kennet said. “Unusual.” 

Connor Kian found himself speechless. It didn’t happen very often. 

 

* * *

 

Such amazing eyes. They were cool and distanced, but for some reason, they fascinated Kennet beyond measure. Connor regarded him with a cautious look on his face, but Kennet could see the hint of fear that the other man suppressed immediately, and he could see why that fear might be there. Connor looked very different with those eyes, and they did make him look cold at first glance, and it probably would repel some people, but not him, Kennet realized. Not him ... 

“They’re beautiful,” he said. 

And Connor Kian looked like he didn’t know what to say, which was fine with Kennet, he just shot the other man a final glance, turned his face toward the road and said: “Let’s go for a ride.”

And he started up the engine of the gold-coloured Corvette and she spun to life with a low purr. 

“All right, Kennet,” Connor said. “Show me what she’s got.” 

Kennet drove along the beach, following the road for miles until they reached the highway that went parallel with the ocean. Well on the highway, he pushed the car up to 75 mph. He looked at Connor sideways, and he just put a hand in front of his mouth and yawned theatrically. The island was beautiful, the view toward the ocean breathtaking with its clear blue water and the lush trees and flowers growing between the road and the shore. On the other side of the road the mountains rose like a yellowish-red wall, toward the sky. 

“Is that the best you can do?” he said. And Kennet shifted gears again and pressed the gas pedal, pushing the car up to 80, then 85 and then crossing 90 mph. 

It felt like flying, and Kennet laughed out loud. Connor sat up and took notice and then whooped happily. The smile on his face made him look younger, and Kennet suddenly realized that they probably weren’t that far apart in age. Maybe five years or so. It was just Connors cool, business-like appearance that made him seem older than that. 

The car was going faster than any car Kennet had ever driven before and it caught him off guard how much he enjoyed the speed. It was like a drug; it felt liberating and slightly frightening. The sun was setting over the ocean and the water turned from blue to sparkling colors of liquid fire. He pushed the pedal a little more, and sped up to 100 mph, and the car started to vibrate just a little bit. Enough to be barely perceptible. 

That’s when he heard the sirens. He shot a look in the rear view mirror. 

It was the police. 

“Shit!” he cursed, and his foot left the gas, and the car slowed down. 

“What are you? Stupid?” Connor said. “Push her back up. We’ll outrun them in no time.”

“No way,” Kennet said. “We’re stopping this shit right now.”

And he slowed down even more and pulled to a stop at the side of the road. The police car pulled up behind them. 

“Why did you stop the car?” Connor said tiredly, and put on the sunglasses. “It’s half the fun with a car like this – you can outrun the cops, they’ll never catch us."

“Because it’s illegal?” Kennet said with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah, that’s my point exactly. Now get out from behind the wheel. Hurry up.”

And Connor just moved over. Kennet really couldn’t explain how it happened but just a few seconds later he found himself sitting on the passenger seat and a tall cop stepped out of the police car and came walking toward them. Kennet’s heart was racing. 

“Why did you do that?” he said exasperatedly. 

“Shut up and let me do the talking,” Connor said coolly. 

There was a knock on the window and Connor pulled it down. 

“Driver’s license, please,” the cop said. “You were going a little bit too fast there.”

“I know,” Connor said. “It won’t happen again ... sir.”

“Right,” said the cop and leaned inside the car. “You guys are from the resort, aren’t you?”

“No,” said Connor and Kennet glanced quickly at him. Connor looked perfectly calm and Kennet decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t really like that reaction in himself, but he also knew that at the speed they were going, his driver’s license might be in jeopardy. Connor didn’t seem too worried about that. 

“Right,” the cop said and didn’t look too convinced. “You were going way too fast, boys,” he continued. “I had to hit 85 to catch you, and that was after you slowed down. But at least you did slow down. That’s commendable.” His voice was slightly sarcastic. “Connor Kian,” he continued as he looked at the driver’s license. "So, you are from the resort. I heard you were staying there.”

Connor sighed. “Listen, can we just forget about this?” 

“Forget about it? The cop smiled indulgently. “How are you proposing we do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Have you got a suggestion for me?” Connor said and pulled his glasses up on his head and looked the police straight in the eye. Kennet winced when he saw the cop pull back slightly before he caught himself. Kennet kept watching in fascination as the cop and Connor kept talking. Connor didn’t make any suggestions of his own, but just waited for the cop himself to make those suggestions. Bribing a police officer was probably a worse crime than speeding, Kennet thought, but it didn’t seem to bother Connor at all.

“A cop’s salary isn’t very good,” the police hinted. “If you were to ... say, make this month a little bit more enjoyable, I might let you go, pretending I didn’t see you – provided you promise to keep to the speed limits in future.” 

“That could be arranged,” Connor said. “How about 100?”

“Don’t insult me,” the cop said and Kennet just kept listening, his shock growing for each second. This cop was going to let them go for money? Shit, he didn’t think such things happened in real life. Then again, he’d never had the kind of money to be able to pay off a cop anyway. 

“How about 200?” Connor suggested and pulled out his wallet. Two hundred dollar bills came out of it. Kennet could see there was plenty more. 

“How about a thousand?” said the cop. 

“Don’t get too greedy,” Connor said coldly and pulled out a 500. “That’s my final offer,” he said, and Kennet could tell he meant it. So, apparently, did the cop. He took the 500-dollar bill from Connor’s hand and walked off without another word. A couple of minutes later the police car pulled out. 

“Wow,” Kennet said and turned his head toward Connor. That had been ... scary, impressive and hot at the same time. Connor Kian obviously had a lot of money, which Kennet didn’t, and it was his fault that Connor had been forced to pay off that cop. 

“Cops,” said Connor with a fair amount of disdain in his voice. 

“I’m sorry about this,” Kennet said. “It’s my fault.”

Connor looked at him and seemed about to say something, then caught himself, drew in a deep breath and then talked. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

He seemed surprised at his own words. 

“Sure it was,” Kennet insisted. “I was driving the car, and I wasn’t paying attention. I should have seen the police car.”

“Well, I didn’t see it either,” Connor admitted. “I was too busy looking at you.” 

Kennet shivered and Connor’s eyes, the eyes that people said were so cold and distanced, suddenly turned heated. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much trouble not looking at someone.”

Uh-oh, Kennet thought. I’m in trouble.

 

* * *

 

Driving fast made Connor horny. Outsmarting a cop made him even hornier, and sitting in a car after having roared along the highway in almost one hundred miles per hour had made him rock hard. He leaned over the stick shift and grabbed the neck of Kennet's shirt. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and then he pulled Kennet close. Their kiss was bruising. And very enthusiastic on both ends. 

Connor groaned and dug his long fingers into Kennet’s unruly hair. Kennet was panting heavily and he tasted so good, so good. Thank god, the guy was on the same page! His hand left Kennet’s thick hair only to land between his legs, squeezing the hard cock he found there through the jeans. Kennet groaned. 

Yeah, perfect. 

 

At least that was what Connor thought, until Kennet pulled away. 

“Whoa there, slow down,” he said. 

“Come on, Kennet. Don’t tell me you’re a prude,” Connor said irritably. 

Kennet laughed heartily. It wasn’t the reaction Connor had expected. Most people he challenged that way would pick up the gauntlet and either slap him in the face with it or give in. Was that what Kennet was doing? Connor wasn’t sure. The laughter didn’t seem like a challenge. 

“Oh, boy,” Kennet said. “You don’t think it’s enough we almost got arrested for speeding. Do you want to add indecent exposure or something equally bad to it as well?”

“The cop’s gone,” Connor pointed out, a little uncertainly. He did not like feeling this way, out of control, like his advantage was slipping through his fingers. He wasn’t used to that feeling. “And this whole shit made me horny.”

“All right,” Kennet said. “Scoot.” 

Connor paused, and hesitated. 

“Come on, you said I could take this baby out for a spin and we had just gotten started when that cop cut my little trip short.” 

Connor shrugged and they traded places. Connor sighed as their bodies rubbed together and he paused in the middle of the car, holding Kennet in place and then he kissed him again. Kennet didn’t resist and for a short moment they just indulged in deep, open-mouthed kisses that made Connor even hornier. Sparks flew along his spine, crackling across his ass and the insides of his thighs. Man, he wanted this ... boy-man so badly. 

 

Then, Kennet pushed him away again, and Connor groaned. 

“Cut it out,” Kennet said and grinned. 

“You’re such a fucking cock-tease,” Connor groused, but pulled away. 

Kennet laughed again, but his eyes were headed with want as he started the engine. Connor busied himself by putting his sunglasses back on. He had nothing to say to Kennet, so he just waited to see what this strangely intriguing guy would do. Few people ever said "no" to Connor Kian – or even ‘not yet’ – and it was kind of refreshing – but very annoying. 

Kennet pulled off the side of the road and cranked the car up to 60, a mere five miles above the speed limit, but Connor couldn’t help grinning. Most guys who’d been through what Kennet had been through wouldn’t have dared drive even the slightest bit too fast.

 

* * *

 

The phone rang and Connor flipped it on with a sideways glance at Kennet, who didn’t seem very bothered by the interruption. Connor wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. He was very aware that he was a difficult man to please. 

“Hi, Margo,” Connor said and listened intently to his secretary. She’d been instructed not to call him unless there was an emergency. “What’s the problem?”

“There is no problem, per se, Sir,” Margo said. “But there has been an interesting development I think you should be aware of.” 

Connor straightened and he grinned as she explained the circumstances to him. He shot a glance at Kennet. So, the lead singer of Bloody Corpses was here at Hephaiston’s Resort. Interesting. He’d been very taken by the image of Jake Williams. And he’d been planning on getting his hands on the man when they met. Now, that was before he’d laid eyes on Kennet Karlsson. What to do now? What to do?

“All right, so he’s staying at the Pyramid hotel as well?”

“Yes, that’s what he told me,” Margo explained. “Room 400.” 

“That’s the honeymoon suite, Margo,” Connor pointed out patiently. Damn, did that mean Jake Williams was here with his husband?

“I know, Sir. He’s staying there with a man named Brandon Klein. He’s a reporter for the Chicago Spear. I made some enquiries, and according to the chief editor of the Spear, Brandon Klein is out on assignment. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s not emotionally attached to this Jake Williams.”

Connor chuckled, knowing full well that Margo pointed this out to him in order to dissuade him from seducing Jake Williams if he were already attached. Margo was one of the few who dared point out to him that she thought he wasn’t always a very kind man. Then again, people didn’t get where Connor was by being kind. 

“So, what did you do? Did you set up a meeting with him?” Connor asked. 

“No, Sir. I wasn’t sure if that was what you wanted, so I gave him your cell phone number and he said he would call you.” 

“Good work, Margo,” Connor said and hung up. 

He’d deal with this later. Right now, he had someone else to entertain him. He shot another look at Kennet, who was smiling secretly. Connor wondered what he was thinking, and found himself being much more curious about Kennet Karlsson than he had been in another man for a very long time. 

“So,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“I have no idea,” Kennet said and smiled. “But we’re going to have some fun.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Kennet said. ”You looked like you wanted to get inside my pants earlier.”

Straight forward, Connor thought. He liked that. Sure, it had been pretty obvious, but few people dared say such things aloud to Connor Kian. He knew he could be very intimidating, and Kennet didn’t seem fazed by him at all. That, too, was refreshing. Connor wondered idly how long it would take before it annoyed him, or even worse, before it bored him. 

“Yeah,” Connor said. “So, what of it? Are you going to let me?” 

“All in good time, Connor. All in good time. Remember, we just met.” 

“Yeah, but I’m letting you drive my car,” Connor pointed out. “That’s got to count for something.” 

“It does. And of course, you paid my speeding ticket.” 

Connor’s insides went completely cold. So much for the refreshing guy.... 

“All right, Kennet,” he said icily. “Turn the car around and go back to the Pyramid hotel. Right now.” 

“What?” Kennet said with genuine surprise in his voice. “What did I say?” 

“Kians don’t pay for sex, Kennet. Ever.” 

“And I don’t take money for it either, Connor. Fuck. What’s wrong with you? If that money bothers you, I’ll pay it back. I don’t give a shit about your money. Is that what you think?” 

Kennet slammed the breaks and the car skidded to a halt by the side of the road. They were driving along a very open expanse with sand on both sides, and the sun had now set. The road stretched straight ahead and straight back for miles and miles. It was fairly dark, the only light coming from the moon. If it hadn’t been for the beach and the water to their left, it would have looked like they were in the middle of the desert. 

As the car stopped, Kennet pulled out his wallet and threw five hundred dollar bills at Connor without blinking. 

“I’ve got enough money on my own, thank you very much!” 

While the hundred dollar bills floated across Connor’s lap and a couple of them fell to the floor, Kennet stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him so loudly that Connor winced. He stared at the money in his lap, feeling...cheap. He’d taken for granted that Kennet was a middle-class, poorly paid young man. Obviously, he’d been mistaken. Poorly paid people didn’t walk around with that kind of money in their wallets even when on vacation. 

Connor swallowed, ashamed for the first time in ... God, he couldn’t even remember how long. Had he ever felt this ashamed – and as much as he hated to admit it – scared, at the same time? It made him angry and he scooped up the dollar bills, and he stepped out of the car as well, slamming the door behind him for the sheer satisfaction of it. He hated feeling ashamed, but Kennet’s reaction in the car also made him curious. What kind of man was Kennet? What kind of background did he come from? These were questions Connor Kian never asked his lovers, and Kennet and he hadn’t even fucked yet. The fact that he was even wondering about it was slightly unsettling. 

“Here’s your money,” he said coldly. 

“I don’t want your fucking money,” Kennet said and stared out at the water. “I’ve got more than enough of my own.” 

“So I gather,” Connor said. He slid down on the ground, leaning against the back tire of the Corvette and hesitated for a moment. 

Kians don’t apologize. 

He could hear his mother’s words in his head, the cold inflection of her voice, and the coldness of her gaze. He’d inherited his unusual eyes from her, so he knew exactly how disturbing they could be, and yet, here he was, going to say it anyway. “I’m sorry.” 

After a few moments, Kennet slid down beside him. “All right. Don’t do it again. I don’t need your money, Connor Kian.”

Kennet’s reaction told Connor a little more about him. Despite the clothing, which looked like they came out of just any catalogue, Kennet’s background was with money. This intrigued Connor even more. Kennet seemed a mystery to him, and mysteries were there to be solved. 

Connor hadn’t even decided what he was going to say before he started talking. 

“People are usually drawn to money, like moths to flame. My family is an old one and there are very few people out there who aren’t out to use me in whatever capacity I allow.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Kennet said, his voice calm now. “The way you dress, the way you flaunt your money ... Frankly, I’m not surprised.”

“Is that why you walk around in jeans and t-shirt?”

“Believe it or not, it isn’t,” Kennet said and laughed. “I just happen to think they are comfortable.” 

A surge of want rushed through Connor at the open smile on Kennet’s face and a strange sensation of relief washed through him when he realized that Kennet was no longer upset with him. He was quick to forgive. Connor decided that he’d have to remember that. 

And despite his conviction that he was still ahead, Connor Kian felt a tightening knot in the pit of his stomach when Kennet wrapped his hand around his chin and pulled him closer. 

“I want you,” Kennet whispered. “I want you, Connor Kian. Am I going to get you?”

Then Kennet Karlsson kissed him, and Connor Kian felt as though he was falling, as though there were no support beneath his feet. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling and before long, he was kissing back. 

 

He was losing control in this, he really was, and he couldn’t fool himself into believing anything else. Connor Kian wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself. He might lie to others, he might lie even to the few people in this world that he cared about, but he did not lie to himself. That was one of the wisdoms he had actually taken from his mother and decided that it was worth incorporating into his life and his philosophy. Another part of his philosophy was to never – ever – lose control. 

So, Connor Kian tried to pull back from Kennet’s kiss, but he couldn’t. Those lips tasted so good, and he’d wanted this guy from the very moment he laid eyes on him and now that Kennet was willing, who was he to say no? But it wasn’t happening the way he’d planned it. It was happening in an entirely different manner. Kennet was the aggressor and that was just not the way he’d decided this would go. Nobody ever seduced Connor Kian. Connor Kian was the seducer. 

So, since he couldn’t – didn’t want to – pull away, he decided he would take control over the kiss, pushing his tongue into Kennet’s mouth, and Kennet let him, for a little while, and as Connor Kian groaned, feeling the arousal build in his body, he noticed that he once more was sucking on Kennet’s tongue, which was deep inside his mouth, fucking his mouth like it was Kennet’s to do with as he pleased. 

Connor wrenched his mouth away and fought to get his erratic breathing under control. He was enjoying this far too much, and he didn’t like that at all. 

“What’s wrong, Connor?” Kennet said, something challenging deep down in his voice, and Connor quickly realized that he’d misjudged Kennet once again. He’d thought that Kennet was a fairly inexperienced young man, who wouldn’t put up much of a fight – an honest, open guy who’d be fairly easily controlled. It was not so. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Kennet,” Connor said, trying to buy time. What was he going to do with this...man? 

“I want to fuck you, Connor,” Kennet said. “Will you let me?”

Connor licked his lips. He wanted that. He’d never let another guy fuck him before – ever, but this time he wanted to. 

“No,” he said. “You won’t fuck me, Kennet. But I’ll fuck you.”

“No, you won’t,” Kennet said. “Let’s go.” 

Kennet rose from the ground where they were sitting next to the Corvette. Connor knew he just had to be as hard as Connor was, and it didn’t seem to bother him at all. Rising from the ground, Connor casually adjusted himself and grimaced, as the arousal seemed only to surge at the sight of Kennet’s tight, denim covered ass. 

He wanted to curse and tell Kennet to open that cock sucker’s mouth for him and give him a blowjob that would release the incredible tension. 

“You really are a cock tease,” Connor said as he slid back into the passenger’s seat. 

“I never said I wasn’t,” Kennet grinned and started the car. 

As they swerved out on the road again, Kennet casually put his hand on Connor’s thigh, high up, massaging it in a maddening way that kept Connor hard for a very long time. Connor hated it and he loved it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so fucking horny, but he wouldn’t show it. He just leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window and pretended to be lost in thought. 

In reality, he felt as though his entire being was concentrated between his legs, and if he could have exercised mind control over Kennet he would have made the man stop the car and suck him off, give him a handjob, fuck him or whatever, just as long as he got off. 

“So, Connor Kian, what would it take for you to admit that you want me? I mean, yeah, you said you wanted to fuck me earlier, but what would it take for you to really let go and let me know how much you want me? I can see it in those amazing eyes of yours, but I’d like to hear you say it, too; I’d like to see you let go, Connor. What are you afraid of?”

Connor swallowed and was about to say something icy cold to Kennet, but Kennet just looked at him sideways for two seconds and then brushed his hand against Connor’s painfully hard cock. He couldn’t talk now, even if he wanted to. His voice would crack or sound like he hadn’t used it for days. He’d lose it. 

“Are you afraid I’ll have control over you?” Kennet said. “Or are you afraid I’d use your desire against you? What is it with you and control?”

Connor looked at Kennet as coldly as he could, which probably – admittedly – wasn’t very cold at the moment. He felt as though his insides were made from molten lava, about to erupt, and Kennet seemed to know this very well indeed. 

“What would it take for you to beg for my mouth or for my touch? I wouldn’t mind begging for you, but that’s not the point. It’s not a hardship for me. I like to beg. When you give in to me, I promise I will beg for you as well.” 

“What the fuck is your game?” Connor said breathily. His voice didn’t sound as harsh and as cold as he’d wanted it to, but not too bad, considering that it wouldn’t take much of Kennet’s handiwork before he’d come in his fucking pants. “Stop the car,” Connor snapped eventually. “Just stop the fucking car and get out.” 

Kennet just grinned at him. “Do you really want me to do that?” 

“Yes!”

Fuck no, he wanted Kennet to stop the fucking car, get out from his seat and slide down between Connor’s legs and give him a blowjob that would make him see stars, but he’d rather die before he asked for it. 

“All right,” Kennet said and drove to the side of the road. Connor was getting tired of this. How many times had they stopped at the side by now? Three times – four? Then, Kennet pulled the keys out of the ignition and held them in front of his face. They jingled and Connor could have sworn the jingle sounded like scornful laughter. . 

“Give me a kiss and you can have the keys.”

“Fuck you, Kennet Karlsson,” Connor said.

“Some day, Connor Kian, you’ll get to do that, but first – kiss me and ask me for it. Ask me to do something about that.” Kennet pointed at Connor’s crotch, and Connor knew he was hard as rock, and there was no way he could hide it. “You know you’re dying for my mouth, why don’t you just admit it. I’ll make it good for you!” 

And Connor lost it, completely. 

He just growled and pushed himself over the stick shift ending up in Kennet’s lap. He dove in for a bruising kiss and for some reason, Kennet just opened up under him like this was what he had wanted all along, and maybe it was. Connor ground himself against Kennet’s hard cock and Kennet finally groaned under him. 

“You want it,” Connor hissed. “You want it, too. So fucking badly. “

“I do, I never said I didn’t,” Kennet said. “I want you like crazy. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone else in this fucking world. Don’t ask me why. Maybe it’s your eyes, the way you look at me. Maybe it’s those fucking lips of yours or maybe it’s your tight ass. I haven’t a damn clue, but I want you, I want you. Now tell me you want me too!”

“I do,” Connor surprised himself by saying. “I do want you. I want to fuck you, and .. I want you to fuck me.” 

“Then let’s go back to the hotel and get down to business,” Kennet said. 

“No,” Connor ground out, admitting to himself that there was no way on God’s green Earth that he could take any more of this, that he could put this need back underneath a cool, calm and collected exterior only to drive back to the hotel. “You pushed me over the edge, Kennet, now you take the fucking consequences!”

 

* * *

 

It was even more than he’d hoped for. Connor’s eyes were blistering hot, and they looked at him in annoyance and lust – pure, fucking, uncontrolled lust. Kennet was rather impressed to tell the truth. He’d thought that Connor would budge sooner, but when he finally did, Kennet could barely contain the sigh of relief. Fighting tooth and nail not to give in to what he himself wanted, Kennet had used every trick he could think of to push Connor over the edge. Except for giving in. But oh, he’d been close to doing that, too. He’d been way too close to saying “Yeah, Connor. Just fuck me already.” But he’d managed to hold those words back and he was glad of it. 

He’d pegged Connor Kian pretty quickly. He was a rich brat, used to getting everything he wanted, when he wanted it - and fuck the consequences. That was the kind of thing boredom thrived on, and Kennet had decided the minute he laid eyes on Connor Kian that he’d never let Connor get bored with him, because that would ruin his plans for the future. Those plans definitely incorporated Connor Kian. 

He hadn’t planned on the way he’d acted, but it was a relief to see that Kennet being Kennet was something that interested Connor Kian, and turned him on as well, obviously, if a lapful of rich brat was anything to go by. 

“We really shouldn’t be doing stuff like this right here,” Kennet said calmly and started to push Connor away. 

Don’t fucking listen to me, Kennet thought desperately, but was dead-set on going through with his plan to drive Connor completely insane. 

Inside, he was about to burst into flame. He was so hard it hurt, and that was probably the only part of him he didn’t have under control, and it wouldn’t stay that way for very long the way Connor wriggled in his lap. But he’d die first. He was not going to let Connor Kian know how close he was to losing it, as well. 

“Then you shouldn’t have pushed me,” Connor repeated logically, his hands planted firmly on Kennet’s chest, rubbing in little, enticing circles. There was a decidedly wicked glow in his strangely colored eyes now. 

“So, you’re going to blow me, right here in the car?” Kennet said conversationally.

Now, that particular idea made his cock stand up and take notice even more. Kennet knew that if he let Connor fuck him first, this would be over in a week – if that. And he suspected that Connor hadn’t ever let any guy do that to him, so that really wasn’t going to happen at this moment because he wasn’t going to fuck Connor either. Not now. He’d not let Connor’s first time be in a damn car, no matter how self-satisfied a bastard the guy might be.  
But he would do it, long before Connor got there with him, because if Connor actually let Kennet fuck him first, there was a chance that they’d end up staying together for longer than that. Calculating? Perhaps, but Connor would be the first to commend him on it, Kennet was sure. 

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Who says I’m going to blow you?”

“’Cause that’s the only way you’ll get me to blow you, or do anything to you that those incredibly sexy eyes of yours tell me that you want me to do.”

“Fuck you,” Connor said. 

“No, fuck you,” Kennet said in a polite tone of voice. “But not here.” 

“So, if I suck you off you’ll blow me, is that it?” 

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Tit for tat? Quid pro quo?” Connor sneered. 

“Yep,” Kennet didn’t really like the sound of that, but he knew it didn’t matter what Connor said. He’d have to lose some of that control or he’d never enjoy sex with Kennet as much as he was capable of doing. 

“All right,” Connor said and slid down on the floor, but the Corvette wasn’t the ideal place for sex. It was a sport’s car, and like all sport’s cars it was really cramped for space, and even though Connor wasn’t exactly the muscled, big hunk that some guys were, he wasn’t small either. 

“Not here,” Kennet said. 

“What’s with you?” Connor snarled. “I told you I’m not going back to the fucking hotel. If we do that, my balls are going to fall off!” 

Kennet couldn’t hide his smirk completely. Connor really had lost it; he wasn’t thinking for that split second before talking, the way his quicksilver mind usually did, and interesting things blurted out of his mouth. 

“Your brain’s in your dick, Connor,” Kennet chastised smoothly. “Let’s get out of the car.” 

Connor didn’t dignify that with an answer, but almost fell out of the car when Kennet opened the door. He did not look happy about it, and adjusted his cock pointedly. Then he went down on his knees in front of Kennet, reaching for his fly. 

This was not going to be easy. Kennet sighed and pulled away from Connor who snarled again. 

“We’re not going to do this,” Kennet said – and could have killed himself. So could Connor if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, and Kennet knew they were pretty expressive. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Connor said, and gave him an impatient look. If Kennet hadn’t been so hard, this might have been funny. Even on his knees, Connor Kian looked as though he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, and Kennet was determined to wipe that annoyed, impatient look that said he didn’t like being defied off his face. Nope, Connor Kian was going to suck Kennet off and enjoy it while he did. 

“You’re not exactly enthusiastic about going down on me,” Kennet pointed out. “And if you’re not enjoying it; if you don’t want this, we’re not going to do it. I don’t fuck around with people who don’t want me.” 

“Damn it, Kennet. You’re harder than steel. I could feel it.”

“Yeah, I am. I am so fucking hard I can barely see straight, but that doesn’t matter. If you don’t want me, I don’t give a shit.” Kennet said coldly. “You’re going to have to do better than look like you’re doing it because I’m forcing you to do it. I don't want to see that suffering look on your face when you swallow my dick!” 

“But I’m not. Nobody can force me to do anything I don’t want to do,” Connor said and wiped a hand across his face. “I do want this. I do want you. I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you.”

The words were sincere and eager, and Kennet didn’t believe a fucking word. Sure, Connor was telling the truth; he had no doubt about that. But right now the rich bastard was just going through the motions, saying anything he thought that Kennet would like to hear, in the way he thought Kennet wanted to hear it, just to get his way.

“Let’s go,” Kennet said tiredly. “Let’s go back to the fucking hotel, where you can drop me off, we go our separate ways. There are clubs all over Hephaiston's Resort, where you can find any little lovesick boy you can fuck from here to kingdom come. It isn’t going to be me.” 

Connor’s voice was trembling when he finally spoke, coarse with barely contained anger. 

“What the hell do you want from me, Kennet? I’m on my fucking knees offering to blow you. Connor Kian doesn’t get on his knees for just anyone. I do want you. I fucking want you so much it hurts. Now, stand still and let me get that hard cock of yours into my mouth and I’ll show you how much I want you!” 

Relief. 

Kennet didn’t know how intense that emotion could be. But he didn’t want to show it, so he just leaned casually against the Corvette’s hood and waited. His knees were about to buckle already, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to remain standing once Connor’s lips were around his cock. 

Connor’s hands were at his fly, pulling the belt out of his jeans quickly, efficiently. There were no casual touches, no petting, just yanked down pants and straight to the good stuff. No finesse at all. 

Kennet didn’t want finesse right now, and he suspected Connor had waited long enough as well. He forced back a moan when Connor’s mouth wrapped around his cock. Wet, hot suction, and Kennet realized that no matter how spoiled Connor might seem, he’d done this before and he was damn good at it. 

Wishing he could just lean back on the hood, allowing Connor to do what he wanted, allowing Connor to take control, Kennet knew he couldn’t – not yet. He couldn’t let go completely this time, no matter how easily he usually did. He wasn’t this controlling ever; he didn’t like to be. Kennet preferred to let go and allow the feelings to rule him, but with Connor Kian he couldn’t do that – at least not the first time. He had to show Connor that nobody took advantage of Kennet Karlsson, not even the filthy rich. So he looked down at Connor who was watching him intently, the pale eyes open and scrutinizing, and his movements were calculated to bring Kennet off as quickly and efficiently as possible. 

“You’re not enjoying this at all,” Kennet said hoarsely, putting his hands on Connor’s head, to pull him away. . 

The look in Connor’s eyes turned annoyed and he resisted. How anyone could say those pale eyes were cold went beyond Kennet’s comprehension; they were very expressive. Kennet wouldn’t let go of his head, and Connor pulled his mouth of Kennet’s cock with a wet pop. 

“I love this,” he said, about as enthusiastically as he’d say “Give me that pen”.

“Then show me.” Kennet insisted hotly. “Show me you’re enjoying yourself. Let go, and don’t push me into coming in two seconds flat.” 

“It’s not my fault if you’re easily triggered,” Connor said angrily, but pulled his gaze away from Kennet’s immediately, apparently realizing that he’d lost this game as soon as the words left his mouth. Because by saying that, Connor implied that he wasn’t good enough at this to stop his lovers from coming prematurely, and that was not a good thing. 

Kennet grinned and leaned back against the hood again, and Connor bent back to his task. 

And what a difference it was. The wet lips slid down over Kennet’s hard shaft, slowly, teasingly, the tongue licking the underside as though his cock were the tastiest thing in the universe. Kennet looked down on Connor and now the other man’s eyes were half closed in pleasure. Finally, it was as though he finally allowed himself to actually take in what he was doing, feeling the slide of Kennet’s hard cock into his mouth, tasting the pre-come that Kennet knew was spilling out of him for each luscious lick, each move of those warm, tight lips. Connor sped up, apparently uncaring of the sloppy noises that came from his movements. 

Oh fuck, Kennet thought, forcing himself not to start fucking Connor’s mouth. I can’t hold back. I’m going to come... I’m going to come.... 

He looked down at Connor’s warm lips as they moved back and forth over Kennet’s cock; a blissful expression on Connor’s face now, his agile, and decidedly wicked tongue swirled around Kennet’s cockhead. Jolts of pleasure shot through Kennet’s groin, making his balls tighten and he was about to come, soon, soon. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, and hated himself for losing it. 

Connor moved his other hand to the task, and Kennet couldn’t stifle a gasp, couldn’t tell Connor to stop because it was so good, but he was disappointed none-the-less. Fucking hell, Connor hadn’t listened to a word he said. If he put that hand on Kennet’s balls, scratched his nails along them, or down to the perineum, brushing his hole, he was going to come like a teenager. But instead, Connor gripped Kennet’s balls and pulled them down, a little harshly. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it efficiently pulled Kennet back from the brink of orgasm. Connor’s other hand wrapped around the base of Kennet’s cock in a rather vicious grip, forcing the orgasm back even more, and Kennet was thrilled. Beyond thrilled. 

“Yeah,” Kennet moaned, happy that he wasn’t going to come just yet, that Connor was going to keep sucking him for a little while longer, with those talented lips. He didn’t want this to ever end. ”Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” 

Connor said nothing, but moved forward and his breathing was coming faster now, and he swallowed Kennet’s cock whole, deep down into his hot, tight throat, swallowing around it, and the pleasure was fucking blinding. No help was going to stop him from coming now, and the sight of Connor going at it as though he really liked it was hotter than anything, hotter than the mouth wrapped around his cock, hotter than the strong hands cupping his ass tightly, hotter than the noises that came from Connor. The sloppy, sucking noises, the groans and the hums deep down in his throat. Oh, fucking .... 

 

All of it worked to drive Kennet out of his mind, and he’d been so hard for so long, and he threw his head back and pulsed. He thought his spine had liquefied, and his brain had melted into something unrecognisable and unrecoverable. His knees buckled and he was surprised to feel Connor’s strong hands catching him. 

“Don’t fall on your face, sexy,” Connor said, his voice rough as though he’d been screaming. 

“Fuck, that was good,” Kennet gasped. “Best ever.”

Connor’s eyes widened at that, as though he’d never heard such heart-felt praise before. So what? Kennet had never been opposed to giving credit where credit was due, and that had been utterly amazing. 

“So, are you going to help me out or not?” Connor asked, his voice still a little rough, as though he wasn’t used to asking for it, and as though he perhaps was a little afraid that he was going to be left hanging. 

“Yeah, I’m going to give you the best blowjob you ever had,” Kennet said – and meant it.

Pushing Connor down on the ground, he straddled him and opened Connor’s pants. He was going to make Connor let go completely. Now that they established some form of trust – he’d proven he stuck to his word anyway – he might actually have a chance at making Connor realize that Kennet wasn’t about to leave him hanging, ever, no matter what was happening. Kennet suspected that Connor hadn’t had much of that in his life. 

“This won’t take long,” Connor said ruefully and threw his head back. “You’ve tortured me for too long.”

“Might not take long, Connor,” Kennet said softly. “But we can do it again, soon – over and over if you want to, and I’m really going to make you like it.” 

Connor reached out and put his hand against Kennet’s cheek; a thumb pushing at Kennet’s mouth insistently. 

“You’ve got such great lips,” Connor whispered. “Suck it for me.”

And Kennet opened his mouth, slicking the thumb with his saliva. 

“Let me fuck you,” Connor said. 

“I will, I promise, but not now,” Kennet said. “And I’m going to fuck you first.” 

“Why is that so important?” Connor said, as though he’d forgotten the erection he’d been sporting for so long. 

Kennet grinned at him. “Because nobody has done that to you before, and if I let you fuck me first, you’ll never give it up, and you don’t know what you’re missing.” 

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “How is it that you know me so well?” 

“Because I know someone who used to be like you,” Kennet said and bent his head, sucking Connor’s cock deep into his mouth and Connor didn’t say anything else for a while.


	6. The Coconut

Nick, Alex, Duncan and Henry

 

Nick was kind of tired today. He'd been working late every night for three weeks in a row, and he'd earned a lot of extra tips. Now it was time to get out of the hotel for a while and do something more interesting than work. He stared at himself in the mirror and sighed. He'd always look like a security guard or a bouncer or something. His looks really attracted the wrong kinds of guys, the kind that wanted him to take control in bed and treat them rough. And while Nick admitted that he liked a rough tumble in the hay from time to time, he preferred it if he didn't have to do all the work, all the time, and sometimes, sometimes he just longed for someone to spend time with, someone who liked to hang out and talk. Or that someone else would take control and take responsibility for everything, in bed – and out of it. But tonight he was going to a club with a couple of friends, and have some fun and not go looking for anything. He was kind of tired of looking … 

There was a knock on the door. He lived in the large building across the yard from the huge pyramid that was the hotel – as most of the employees did, and the visitors this time were probably Duncan and Henry. Duncan was a slightly overbearing, Irish guy, who had hooked up with Henry almost the first day they came to Hephaiston's Resort, which had been about the same time as Nick, two years ago when the resort was just opening. 

"Come in," Nick hollered and Duncan and Henry came inside. They were ridiculously in love with each other and Nick was ridiculously envious of them at times. 

"Hi, lad," Duncan said. Then he stopped in his tracks and looked at Nick in an exaggerated way. Then he wolf-whistled. Probably because he knew just how flustered that would make Nick, and Nick gave Duncan one of his patented glares. 

"Boy, you look good," Duncan said. "Doesn't he look good, Henry?" 

"Yes," Henry mumbled and looked to the floor. Poor guy. Always so nervous and easily embarrassed. Then again, Henry looked like the epitome of every cliché Nick had ever heard of for the awkward geek. He was in his forties, balding and wore steel-rimmed glasses. Once you got to know him though, he was a funny guy, although he still got embarrassed when Duncan teased him – like now. 

Nick had dressed in a new pair of black pants and a blue shirt that someone once had told him brought out the blue in his eyes. He figured it couldn't do any harm to take that as a good sign. Obviously his clothing had been a good choice, if Duncan's reaction was anything to go by, he thought ruefully. But he wasn’t trying to attract anyone … really!

"You ready for a night on the town?" Duncan boomed and slapped his hands together as though they were about to do some really hard manual labour. And who knew? Nick thought with a grin. Maybe they were. At least Duncan and Henry were set for life. They'd fallen for each other like a ton of bricks immediately upon arriving, and it didn't seem as though the feelings were cooling off either, no matter how unlikely a couple they seemed to be. 

Henry was the garden keeper, a quiet, unassuming and nervous man who sometimes made Nick want to slap him upside the head to make him stop stuttering. He'd learned the hard way that it wasn't the best way to deal with Henry's skittish personality. Duncan, on the other hand, was a boisterous and good-hearted guy, who loved tinkering with anything that had to do with computers. He was pretty much a person who took care of anything that went wrong with the hotel's computer system, both when it came to security, economy and the computers set up for the guests. He had a huge staff of people under him that he took very good care of – if they did their job right. If not, they were kicked out on their asses, with a string of well-thought-out, Irish curses ringing in their ears. 

How these two had ever ended up together was still a complete mystery to Nick, but he envied them because they took awfully good care of one another. 

Henry was rather tall and thin, had barely any hair left on his head, and wore glasses that hung low on his pointed nose. Duncan was short, stocky and had a head full of reddish, curly hair and an extreme amount of freckles on his nose. 

"Yeah, I'm ready. So, where are we going tonight?" 

"I thought we'd try out that new club on the beach, the Coconut," Duncan said and Nick nodded. He'd heard of that place, and knew that it had become quite popular almost immediately, probably for the very reason that it was situated on the beach. Nick just hoped that someone kept an eye on overly inebriated guests and made sure they didn't go drown themselves in the ocean.

 

* * *

 

Alex sat on the beach alone with a beer in his hand. This place really was packed and he was having a great time. He just wanted a few minutes to himself to catch his breath and then he'd go back in there and see if he could find some new guy to dance with. He'd never been to a place like this before. The music was really ... off. It sounded like some kind of Hawaiian hula or Caribbean conga. He had no fucking clue, but it was fun, fun, fun.

He swallowed the last of his beer and walked back into the throng. The place really was hopping. People dressed in garish Hawaiian shirts mingled with others wearing just about nothing at all. Alex grinned and scoped his surroundings. That's when he finally laid his eyes on him. He really stood out in the crowd, and not because he was wearing anything colourful and garish, quite the contrary. His black jeans and blue shirt really seemed odd in this crowd. But what really caught Alex’s eye was something else entirely – what a fucking gorgeous body this man had! His back was turned to Alex, so he couldn't really know what the guy looked like, but those long legs, that tight ass, wrapped in a pair of form fitting, black jeans and a shirt as blue as the sea itself. He wore a crew cut and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to show muscular, tanned arms with a light dusting of hair, and the hand was wrapped around a large, plastic cup with what Alex assumed was also beer. He was talking to a much shorter guy with red, curly hair, who was gesturing animatedly. He, on the other hand, was wearing a pink shirt that clashed shockingly with his hair. As Alex came closer he could hear their conversation. 

"You're going to have to ask someone to dance if you want to have some fun, Nick. You can't just stand around adorning the walls, no matter what a gorgeous decoration you might be," the guy with the red hair said reasonably.

"I've never been to a place like this," Nick said. "Give me a break, all right?" 

And that's when Alex recognized the guy. First, he knew he was familiar with the voice; a deep, pleasant one, with an accent that told Alex that the guy was probably from up north, just like he was. It was also then he connected the voice with that good-looking hotel employee that he'd talked into buying groceries for him. 

Damn. Was that going to be a problem or an advantage? Would the guy hate to be reminded of his job when going out to have some fun? Would he have some form of policy against going out with a guy who was staying at the hotel where he worked? Or would he be happy to see someone he actually had talked to? Should he still ask the guy to dance or should he just turn his back and walk away? Suddenly Alex’s nerves were acting up on him. He hadn’t felt so skittish since he was a teenager. He was just about to walk away to try and calm his nerves and reason with himself, but it was too late. Nick's eyes had fallen on Alex and he looked like... Alex didn't know what he looked like. He wasn't sure that expression was a good one, though. 

"Mr. Martin," Nick said politely. "Nice to see that you found the new hot spot of Hephaiston's Resort."

"Well, I had to start somewhere," Alex said. "And please, call me Alex."

"Alex," Nick said. "I'm Nick Harrelson." He extended his hand and Alex took it without thinking. Nick’s hand was warm and dry and the grip was strong. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second and warmth spread through the pit of Alex’s stomach. Those eyes … they were really something. 

"Yeah, I know, I remember you from yesterday afternoon. I... apologize for the way I persuaded you to help me with the groceries. I just....I didn't want to deal with that just then." 

"That's fine," Nick said. "That's what I'm there for. Now, if you'll ex...."

"Oh, come on Nick," the short red-haired guy next to Nick said heartily. "Don't be rude. Why don't you introduce us?" 

Alex couldn't help grinning sympathetically toward Nick. It was really funny to see how his friend was trying to rope him into inviting Alex into their midst. Nick sighed patiently, but when he saw Alex's indulgent grin, his eyes lit up in a genuine smile. It made Alex relax somewhat as well. 

"Very well, Alex, this is Duncan O'Leary. If anything even remotely like a computer breaks down at Hotel Pyramid, this is the guy you should call."

"Don't listen to him. I've got a huge staff to help me out," Duncan said and held out a hand for Alex to shake. Duncan's grip was also strong and dry and his blue eyes glittered in good humor when Alex took it. "And this is my partner, Henry Berkeley," Duncan said and pulled another man into the circle. Alex hadn't even noticed him before, which didn't really surprise him. Henry Berkeley was the type of man who just blended in, or rather disappeared into invisibility in any kind of surroundings. But now he smiled tentatively toward Nick and shook his hand. As opposed to Nick’s and Duncan’s handshake, Henry’s was light and quick and he pulled his hand away as soon as it was polite to do so. 

"Hello," he said. "Nice to meet you." His smile was friendly, if a bit reserved. It wasn’t hard to figure out that Henry wasn’t really comfortable in these surroundings and that he was rather shy. That was okay, Alex could sympathise. He’d used to be really shy too, when he was fifteen or so. Henry, on the other hand, must be in his late forties. Must be hard being so shy still, Alex thought and smiled back, warmly. 

"Likewise," he said, and all of the sudden there was that awkward silence that often happens when the social niceties were taken care of. Alex cleared his throat and looked at his empty glass. Henry looked like he'd rather be anywhere else and Duncan seemed like he was deliberately refusing to say anything to help things along. Otherwise, Alex was sure that Duncan wasn't the type of person who had trouble thinking of things to say. 

"Do you want to dance?" Nick asked then, as though that was the only thing he could think of to say to break the uncomfortable silence. But Alex wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

"Yeah, I'd like that," he said and put the empty glass on the bar counter.

 

* * *

 

Nick felt clumsy and awkward the very moment he entered the dance floor. He’d never been much of a dancer to be honest, and this was really more of a chore than it was something he enjoyed. But what else could he have said? This guy, Alex, had looked at him like a deer caught in headlights when Duncan was so obviously trying to throw them together. He really had to come up with a good idea of how to stop Duncan from doing that. And the thing foremost in his mind at that moment was getting Alex away from Duncan and Henry’s prodding. By doing so, he’d probably play right into their hands. Oh well...

He often wished he could get away from Duncan. He was the regular mother hen sometimes. One way would be to leave the Resort, and start afresh somewhere else. Nick admitted to himself – not for the first time – that he was growing rather tired of this place. All he ever saw was guys, guys and more guys. Even though it had been relaxing at first, to be in a place where he could actually be himself without having to worry about getting hit in the face for showing affection toward another guy, it was getting tiring to never see a female face or hear a female voice other than on the TV. 

“You’re not very into this, are you?” Alex said as he slid into Nick’s arms. 

“What? Oh, sure,” Nick said and put his arms a little tighter around Alex. It was nice. The guy definitely wasn’t bad looking and Nick had truly forgotten the few good things about dancing. He didn’t dance very often and couldn’t for the life of him understand why Duncan and Henry had dragged him along to a place like this. He’d heard of the Coconut, of course. He was working at the resort after all, but never expected the club to be quite like this. But now that he was here, with Alex in his arms, he admitted to himself that it wasn’t so bad. He could actually hold a guy without having to put up afterwards unless he really wanted to. It had been a while since he’d wanted to, but this Alex guy was really nice to look at. 

In fact, now that he thought about it, Alex was exactly Nick’s type; kind of tall, muscular and broad-shouldered just like him. He wondered for a brief moment if Alex were one of those guys who wanted to be manhandled in bed or if he could think of doing the manhandling? It would be kind of nice.... 

Nick’s grip around Alex tightened a little more and they swayed on the dance-floor. This was good. Damn good, and Alex didn’t exactly seem to want to pull away. He just looked at Nick with dark brown eyes and smiled openly. 

“This is nice,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “To tell you the truth, I only asked you to dance to get away from those two love birds. They can get a little overbearing at times.” 

Alex laughed. “I think Duncan only means well. He looked at you like an older brother who decided you need help.” 

“And proceeded to give it without bothering to check if it was welcome – or even needed,” Nick said and couldn’t help laughing. Alex had gotten it in one. Duncan and Henry were like a couple of older brothers who kept looking out for him whether he wanted it, needed it or not. It was good to have them around most of the time, but sometimes it was ... not so good. They were like family and like family they had their good sides and bad ones. 

“Yeah, exactly. I thought you were handling it pretty well on your own, though,” Alex said. 

“What?” Nick said. The music was getting awfully loud. It was as though the place had cranked up the volume twice as high as it had been when he got there, and he could barely hear what Alex was saying. But Alex’s long lashes fluttered against his cheeks and Nick got the distinct impression that he was flirting. 

“I said: I thought you were handling it pretty well on your own,” Alex all but screamed in his ear. Screaming kind of took the fun out of flirting, Nick decided, and this place really wasn’t the best place for getting to know someone. 

“Do you want to leave?” Nick said, and Alex looked at him for a few seconds and then he nodded. 

“Yeah, I think I’d like to get out of here.” 

Nick really hadn’t thought of how that sounded and hesitated for a moment, but then Alex shot him another of his open smiles and Nick found that he really wanted to leave, really wanted to get to know this guy, Alex, a little better. 

“Okay,” he said. “Then, let’s go.” 

And they did leave the place. The music followed them for a long time and they didn’t talk much, they just walked along the beach and met a few other couples. One of the couples were an older, balding guy with a tall, dark and handsome guy who seemed to be maybe ten years younger or thereabouts. One of them was speaking with a French accent and they were laughing heartily, holding hands. They seemed to be taking advantage of the cool night air and the moonlight that lit up the world and painted it in black and silver.

“It’s beautiful here,” Alex said. “It must be a great place to work.” 

“Yeah,” Nick admitted. “It is. It pays well, it’s warm all year around and I never have to worry about what people think about me just because I’m gay.” Nick was surprised at how easy it seemed to be to talk to Alex. He didn’t usually speak about his life much with people he met for the first time, and yet, only after a few minutes in Alex company, he was hinting that his life as a homosexual hadn’t been all sunshine and roses. Then again, that was true for most. 

“Is everyone who works here homosexual?” Alex asked, with quiet awe in his voice. He didn’t pry, even though he must have heard the tone of bitterness in Nick’s voice, and for that, Nick was grateful. 

“Yeah, they are. It’s one of the requirements in the job description. They don’t want to bring the prejudices from the outside world in here. I guess we have our own prejudices, but at least we won’t have to deal with gay-bashing here. Some people scream isolationist movement about it. I guess they have a point.” 

Alex snorted. “Maybe, but it’s fun. You know, I think this place is fucking unreal. Imagine something like that in the real world out there. Seeing the requirement that you must be gay on a work application on the outside would be hysterical.” 

Nick laughed too. It would never be okay outside Hephaiston's Resort, to ask for either only gay personnel or non-gay personnel. Either way, it would be discrimination. “Yeah, it would. But it’s okay to be prejudiced against heterosexuals here,” Nick said. “I think we’re entitled.”

Alex simply nodded. “I think you’re right. Hephaiston's Resort seems like an oasis, a place outside the rest of the world; a fantasy place. It’s relaxing in a way I never thought about before I got here. It feels so far away now.” 

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I haven’t been out there,” Nick made a vague gesture toward the ocean and the world outside. “Not since I started working here. I sometimes don’t even remember what it’s like being looked strangely upon when I admit I’m gay. I even long for the outside world sometimes.”

“It’s nothing to long for,” Alex said curtly. “This is way better.”

“Maybe, for a while,” Nick agreed and shot Alex a look. Alex’s face was closed. So maybe he, too, had been through rough times? “But after a while, you miss the women, even if you don’t want them in your bed, they’re nice to have in your life. I write to my sister and I sometimes tell her that I miss her voice or just looking at her face. I miss the female co-workers I had at the club in town back home. I miss my friend, Sheila. She said she’d like to come visit, but she’s not welcome on Hephaiston's Resort even though she’s gay. That’s kind of awkward.”

“Aren’t women even allowed in here?” Alex wondered. 

“They haven’t been, but there’s talk about changing that policy and integrating both gay women and men to this place, but the management is afraid that if we do start letting women in here it’ll change the atmosphere and we’ll end up letting heterosexuals in here and the Hephaiston's Resort will just turn into any other vacation place.”

“I guess they have a point,” Alex said. 

“Yeah, I think they do, unfortunately,” Nick agreed. “So, much as I hate to admit it, I think it’s better if they keep the resort the way it is, and not allow women in here. I think that other place – I forget what it’s called, for lesbians – is going to be the same way. But the policy has given us a bit of bad press too, saying that we’re prejudiced and hypocritical, and in a way I can understand it, but it’s no different from a fucking nudist colony.” 

Nick stopped walking and looked at Alex a little sheepishly. “Sorry about this, I didn’t mean to rant about this stuff. I guess it’s relaxing to talk about someone from the outside. Mostly I just spend time with Duncan and Henry, and they don’t like hearing me talk badly about the resort. They think it’s the best thing since sliced bread.” 

“It’s okay,” Alex said and Nick relaxed. It was obvious that Alex meant it. 

“So,” Nick said, drawing a deep breath. “Where are you from?” 

Alex just smiled and pulled at his arm. 

“Let’s go skinny-dipping.”

 

* * *

 

The water was warm and felt like a caress around his feet. He was standing just at the edge of the water, waiting for Nick’s reaction. 

He hadn’t minded listening to Nick. Quite the contrary, but the truth was that he was tired of all the talking. He’d talked to that guy Richard and now he ended up talking a whole lot with Nick. Talking was all well and good. It kind of brought people closer together, and let them get to know one another, but right now he was done talking, for a while. 

“Skinny dipping?” Nick said, his eyes going wide. “You’re kidding, right?” 

“Nope,” Alex said and started pulling off his jeans. Nick was a really sexy guy and that blue shirt and the black, tight jeans showed off his body to perfection. So much in fact that Alex couldn’t wait to see the guy in the nude. “Come on. Live a little, won’t you?” he tempted. 

Nick stood there, looking uncertain, but Alex could tell that he’d won probably already before Nick knew it. Alex threw his jeans on the beach, safely away from the edge of the water. Nick grinned and his hands went to the buttons of his shirt and he started undoing them. Perhaps it wasn’t polite to stare, but Alex didn’t give a damn. Nick was gorgeous, fucking perfection. He was fairly tall, and muscular, with a chiselled face that didn’t lend itself to smiles very often, but when he did smile, his face lit up from the inside and the icy blue eyes turned warm. 

Alex caught himself licking his lips and he flushed when Nick lifted a challenging eyebrow at him. At first he didn’t know if he should say something, apologize or so. But then, Nick started pulling his shirt out of his pants with the same challenge in his eyes. Apparently Nick liked being looked at, at least when the guy who looked at him had a hard time not salivating. 

Forgetting to undress himself, Alex just watched as Nick pulled off his shirt and let it fall to the ground next to Alex’s jeans. Muscles. There were beautiful muscles everywhere. Nick was tall, yes, but he was also built, and his chest was covered in a sprinkle of fine, dark hairs that Alex really wanted to reach out and touch. Would they feel soft or coarse under his fingertips? Alex himself didn’t have any hair on his chest, but he’d learned from other lovers he’d had, that it never felt the same way. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed. “Really fucking gorgeous.” 

“Thanks,” Nick said. “You look great, too. Show me some more, will you?” 

That’s when Alex finally managed to pull himself out of his staring, and he started undoing the buttons in his own shirt. He then threw it to the ground in the same pile as the other clothes. He wondered if they’d even make it to the water or if they’d end up fucking each other here on the beach, for the whole world to see. He’d seen other couples doing stuff that wasn’t strictly allowed in the great outdoors when they walked here, but this spot seemed secluded and he hoped that if they did get it on right here on the beach, they could do so without audience. 

“Nice,” Nick said appreciatively, flung his boxers off, and then he stepped closer. He was half-hard already and Alex responded to that with an almost painful rush of blood to his cock. Nick, so beautiful, like a Greek God who had stepped right out of mythology itself, was looking at him with desire in his eyes. Of course he would respond to it. When Nick’s hand connected with his chest, Alex gasped. It was like an electrical current travelled between them. Awkwardly, he got rid of his briefs and threw them on the ground. He missed the pile and they ended up floating away in the water. Alex couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“God, we shouldn’t be doing this right here, should we?” Alex whispered. “But I have to admit that I don’t have the slightest interest in trying to find a more private place. 

“Me neither,” Nick said. “I don’t usually do things like this.” Then he snorted and looked at Alex ruefully. “Really, not on the beach anyway, with the risk of being spotted by others.”

“Maybe I’m a stupid idiot,” Alex said. “But I believe you.” 

Then he was pulled into Nick’s arms and they were kissing. Their teeth clicked together and Alex winced, but didn’t pull away. Instead he wound his arms around Nick’s broad shoulders, pulling the only slightly taller man closer to him. Their bare cocks brushed together and Alex groaned at the maddening touch. Alex was glad to have found a man of almost the same size as himself. He was used to being with men who were shorter, and not quite as muscular, and it was great to find someone where he wouldn’t have to hold back, where he could use some of his strength without having to worry. He hadn’t realized he’d been looking for it, until now, when Nick’s strong arms wrapped around him with bruising intensity and their kisses grew wilder. 

“Oh, fuck,” Nick groaned. “Do you like to top?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Alex said. “Don’t you?”

“Sure, but I’d like you to fuck me, and I want you to do it now.” 

“Damn, Nick. We just met,” Alex said. He couldn’t believe he was saying that, but still. He didn’t usually screw a guy on the first date. And still, Nick. God, Nick wanted to be fucked. Who was he to say no?

“I don’t give a damn,” Nick said. “I don’t usually fuck on a first date, but man – feel this.” 

Nick grabbed Alex hand and put it on his cock. Nick was hard as steel and big. Alex groaned, and wrapped his fingers tighter around Nick’s hard-on. 

“Yeah, I like that,” Nick moaned. “We’re going to get sand everywhere, but I don’t care.” 

“You’ll care later,” Alex said and hated the voice of reason. “There’s nothing quite like sand on your cock, trust me.” 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Nick asked, his voice strained and impatient. 

“Let’s go up there,” Alex said and pointed. A few hundred yards away there were some palm trees and grass. It wasn’t the best place for a sexual encounter, but Alex thought it would be better than the sand. 

“All right.” 

They gathered up their clothes and walked over to the trees. The grass was soft and Nick lay down on the ground. 

“I’ve got condoms and lube in my pants,” he said. 

“Looking to get laid tonight, eh?” Alex teased. 

“Yeah,” Nick admitted aloud. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself earlier, but Alex deserved the truth. “As a matter of fact, I was hoping to get laid. It’s been a while.” 

Alex’s brain shorted out. Nick’s words went straight to his cock and suddenly he couldn’t wait another second to bury himself inside Nick. He rummaged for the lube and condoms and cursed loudly when he dropped both on the ground. 

“Here, let me help,” Nick said and used his teeth to open the package with the condom. Alex uncapped the tube of lubrication and pressed out a good-sized dollop in the palm of his hand. 

“Hurry,” Nick said and Alex went down on all fours, grinding his teeth together as he felt Nick’s hands on his cock. God, this wasn’t going to last long. 

“Hang on, hang on,” he gasped and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. “Fuck, I don’t want to come too soon. You’re driving me absolutely crazy here, Nick. You’re so fucking sexy.“

And he was. He was lying there on the grass, the light from the moon painting his well-muscled body in an eerie, white light. His eyes were like charcoal, desperate with want and he was panting hard. 

“Fuck me, Alex,” Nick groaned. “Just fuck me.”


	7. In Depth

Richard and Corey, Nick and Alex

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Richard asked as they stepped out of the bathroom. He’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he really didn’t feel like going to bed now. He was energized. Going to sleep felt like a waste of time. 

Corey just smiled and nodded. His brown eyes were glittering towards Richard and that made his stomach flutter in a way he’d never experienced before. Corey really made him feel like a teenager sometimes. He smiled back and felt a little goofy. 

“Sure. Let’s go down to the beach,” Corey answered. ”Kennet told me that you can follow the beach for miles if you want to. We can walk there if you’d like.”

“Right, that sounds great.”

Kennet? Who was Kennet, Richard suddenly found himself wondering, and an unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach. He had never felt anything like it, and he smiled ruefully to himself. It seemed that Corey was introducing him to a whole new register of emotions, and Richard realized that the unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach was jealousy. 

“Corey,” he said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but ... who is Kennet?” 

Corey smiled as they walked out into the cool evening air. “Kennet is my best friend,” Corey said easily. “He’s in your class, too.” 

And then Richard realized why the name had sounded so familiar. Kennet was the tall, gorgeous young man in his class. Born in Sweden, Richard remembered. He had dark hair, strong muscles and full lips. Lips that could ... A luscious image of someone sucking him off made Richard swallow hard, and then he shook that thought away. He was both Corey’s and Kennet’s teacher. This place was getting to him, and he felt old inhibitions just fall away one by one. It was unsettling – and liberating. 

“Oh, right. Kennet,” he said. 

“You remember him?”

“Yes, I remember him,” Richard admitted and felt much better when Corey put his arm around his waist and pulled him closer. “Kennet is just a friend. We’ve known each other forever. I think he’s out tonight, but tomorrow I’ll introduce you to him if you’d like.”

 

* * *

 

They walked in companionable silence down to the beach. Richard enjoyed the night-air. It wasn’t completely dark because small lamps about ten-fifteen feet apart lit the path they followed. They sent a comforting glow over the gravel and the crunching sound of their steps and some birds chirping were the only sounds they could hear for a long time. 

“So, Richard,” Corey said after a long time. “What brought you here all alone, and why now?” 

Richard didn’t answer for a while. He thought about the question and they slowed as they neared natural steps that led down to the beach. Richard turned toward the sand, suddenly longing to just sit and watch the ocean, and the waves lapping the shore. The moon was up and its light bathed the world in silver. Corey followed and they sat on the still-warm sand, looking at the waves silently clucking at their feet. 

“For many reasons, I think,” Richard finally said. “Roxanne, my daughter, was definitely the deciding factor, and she pretty much kicked me in the rear to force me to go. She even bought me tickets. Now I’m glad I went,” he continued and looked at Corey. Corey’s eyes were trained on him intently. There was an intensity in his gaze that almost, but not quite, made Richard uncomfortable. He’d never seen anyone look at him quite like that before. Not even Candice. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. 

“Because you’re so beautiful, Richard,” Corey said and reached out with his hand, brushing it against Richard’s cheek. The caress was very sweet and tender and made Richard’s throat tighten. “I’ve watched you so many times in class, wondering whether you would ever feel anything for me remotely like what I feel for you. For the first time since I got to know you, I can hope that you might.” 

“Corey,” Richard began, but he stopped. What was he going to say? He really had no clue where this was going. Corey was beautiful, but they had just met, and they barely knew one another. For Corey to open up like this – and so soon … 

“I know what you’re going to say, Richard,” Corey said ruefully. “I’m too young. We don’t know each other. This is so new to you. You’re my teacher. Blah blah,” Corey said and waved his hand in the air. “But you know, Richard. I don’t really care about any of that. The only thing that I would care about was if I made you feel uncomfortable in any way. If I do, you must tell me. But if you allow it, we’re going to get to know each other much better, and I hope you’ll like me, more than just someone that turns you on and who you’d like to share your bed. If you really think I’m too young, I’ll accept it, but I don’t agree with it....” Corey’s hand landed on Richard’s thigh and squeezed it in what must have been meant in a reassuring way, but it sent a spike of desire through Richard. He definitely reminded himself of a hormonal teenager, and while that was nice, he really needed to get a grip. 

Richard opened his mouth to say something, but Corey held up his hand. “Let me finish. I promise I’ll listen to you and your concerns. Let me just say this while I still have the guts to say it, okay?” Corey’s eyes were rueful and his face so open. God, he was beautiful!

“Okay,” Richard said and swallowed, waiting to hear what else Corey had to say. He was willing to listen, willing to be open to any possibilities in a way he hadn’t been … in his entire life. 

“I know you’re old enough to be my father, but I’m attracted to you in a way I’ve never been to anyone else.” Corey looked into his eyes and Richard was humbled by the sincerity there. “It feels right to me, and I want to pursue it. I know I’ve had a lot longer to digest this. Ever since I first saw you I’ve been wanting this, but like I said; if you do have a problem with me being in your classes, I’ll quit, and I’ll never look back, never regret it. And if you think I am pushing you, driving this too fast, I’ll back off, I promise I will. Just say the word.” Corey’s eyes were dark and he looked at Richard with such heat that Richard’s heart constricted. So young, so honest and open, and so unhurt by life. How could he say anything cruel. It wasn’t like he wanted to push Corey away. Quite the contrary.

“How can you be so open, Corey?” Richard asked. “I don’t understand it. You barely know me and yet...”

Corey sighed. “I’m sorry that you don’t understand that. Not for my sake, but for your own. I wish your life had been easier for you, and that you hadn’t been so hurt by it. For me, I think part of it is because I have wonderful, supportive parents. I’ve never been alone in this. They never judged me.”

Richard sighed. His parents would be turning in their graves about now, and he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. But he did have Roxanne. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of his colourful and lovely daughter. Suddenly he missed her and wondered how she would feel if she could see him now. His smile grew wider. She would be proud. Richard turned toward Corey and kept listening to his words. 

“I live in a city, in a pretty decent neighbourhood, where being gay isn’t so bad. There are a lot of unique people in the suburbs where I grew up, where being queer wasn’t such a big deal. Also, I’ve got Kennet. The two of us have always been able to stand up against the world. I’ve never had much of a problem admitting that I was gay. Well, that might not be entirely true, but I never had the horrible time of accepting it that you seem to have had...” Corey’s eyes were kind and he silenced, as though waiting for Richard to really open up to him, and Richard wanted to, he really did, so he let himself think about that possibility for a moment. 

“Oh, dear,” Richard said, and rubbed his eyes. “You really have no idea.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Corey asked. “I do tend to run off at the mouth sometimes, especially if I get a chance to talk about myself.” The hand on Richard’s thigh squeezed again and the spike of desire was there, predictably. This time, Richard put his own hand over Corey’s though and squeezed right back. Corey’s hands were square and the veins were prominent. Richard never knew he liked hands before, but the vision of Corey’s hand on his thigh, they’re fingers linking together was … beautiful. Almost like it was meant to be…

Richard laughed, “I like listening to you.”

“But I’m a good listener too, Richard, if you want to share your experiences with me. It’s always easier if you can talk to someone about it.” Corey pointed out and looked at him expectantly. His brown hair was falling down into his eyes, and the breeze played around with it. Corey lifted his other hand and brushed the hair away. He looked so boyish, and so attractive. Richard swallowed. When did he become such a degenerated child molester? He pushed that thought away immediately. Corey might be young, but he wasn’t a child, not by a long-shot. He was twenty-five years old, and had certainly been around the block once or twice, or he wouldn’t have the experience to be so … aggressive. 

 

“I’m here to listen if you want to talk,” Corey said, softly. 

And Richard did want to talk about himself and his life. He just didn’t know where to start or what to say. He really didn’t want to sound like he was complaining about his life, but to be able to open up to someone; someone who was willing to listen and who might even understand some of what he had gone through ... It was just too good to pass up. 

“Lie down, Corey,” he said softly, and pulled his hand out of Corey’s loving grasp.

“What?” Corey looked at him confusedly, but didn’t seem overly concerned. 

 

Richard smiled softly and continued: “Lie down on the beach, put your head in my lap, and I’ll tell you. This will probably take a while.” 

 

* * *

 

“It’s been difficult sometimes,” Richard started, his voice trailing off. 

It was so hard to know where to begin. He wanted to tell Corey about his past, because he could tell that Corey actually cared, and he was also in a position to understand more of it than anyone else Richard had ever talked to, except maybe for Alex. Even if Corey had a different experience of being gay, than Richard had, he would probably understand. Perhaps Corey could even show him what was good about it. Apart from the obvious, of course...

“Tell me,” Corey said and drew a finger along Richard’s thigh absentmindedly. It made Richard shiver slightly. He couldn’t believe how little it took to arouse him. Just the simplest touch. “Tell me everything.” 

He lay in Richard’s lap with his eyes half–closed. The moonlight bathed his handsome face in its eerie light and made him look almost surreal. 

“I’ve known my entire life that I was gay,” Richard said at long last. “I just didn’t really admit it to myself, even though I think most of my family knew. At least my father did, because throughout my childhood and adolescence he never failed to take every opportunity to tell me how wrong homosexuality was and how immoral the people who indulged in it were. He always told me I had a duty to the family to marry and for my future wife to have a son.” Richard couldn’t keep the bitterness at bay, and it tasted badly in his mouth. He let his eyes wander across the water. It was so tranquil here, and it felt almost as though he and Corey were the only people in the world. The serenity was comforting and made it easier to talk about his past. 

“Perhaps your father was gay, too?” Corey said. 

Richard paused at that. The thought had honestly never crossed his mind before, and he looked back upon the memories he had of his father, and his years of growing up in that family, trying to determine if there was any chance that Corey was right. He remembered some of the good things from his childhood, the laughter and the happiness between his parents. He remembered the kisses and the joy in his father’s eyes when he looked at his mother. 

“No,” he said thoughtfully at last. “I really don’t think he was. It would have been a comfort to me if I could have believed that, but whatever else he was – or wasn’t – he was happy with my mother. They really loved each other. I simply think he was brought up in a very strict and conservative home. Even more so than mine was. He wasn’t quite so rigid as my grandfather, but he still had the same values. I think he was happy with my mother, but I will never know for sure, will I?” Richard sighed deeply and absentmindedly he threaded his fingers through Corey’s thick, dark hair. The long strands were soft as silk and Corey moved into the caress, making Richard aware of what he was doing. It felt nice. 

“He’s dead?” Corey asked. 

“Yes, my father died three years ago, followed by my mother last summer.” Richard did realize that their passing had been part of what made him finally own up to the truth and admit to himself what and who he was. If they’d still been alive … 

“So you’re free now?” Corey said softly, as though he could read Richard’s mind. 

It felt like cruelty to admit such a thing, because despite everything he had loved his parents dearly, and after they died, Roxanne was all the family he had left. But it was still true. When they passed, beyond the grief, he had felt a strong sense of relief, a relief that he would be able to live his own life without having to worry about disappointing his parents. Perhaps already then he’d started giving himself permission to be himself, even though it had taken him a while to really begin his journey so late in life. 

“Yes,” he admitted softly. “I am free now.”

“It’s tragic really,” Corey said, and Richard waited for him to elaborate. “My family has always been so supportive that I’ve probably been spared a lot of the hardship involved in being a homosexual. Even the place where I grew up was fairly open-minded. It’s hard for me to understand how someone who’s supposed to love you can put such demands on you. They love you and yet they put you in a prison as surely as if they had locked the door and thrown away the key. They forced you to marry, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Richard admitted and he knew for a fact that he would have never married Candice had his own father not been so adamant that he continue the family line. 

“And you’ve got a daughter?”

“Yes, Roxanne,” Richard heard the softness of his own voice. Roxanne was the one really good thing that had come out of his marriage. For that he would always be grateful, and that was the thing that made him feel that his life hadn’t been a total loss. 

“I’ve met her once or twice,” Corey said. “She’s very sweet and vivacious. She’s a friend of Kennet’s actually.”

“Really?” Richard said, suddenly curious. He hadn’t known that. He and Roxanne were pretty close, but he didn’t know all her friends and they had so much going on in their lives that it was impossible to know every aspect. 

“Yeah, they have the same quirky sense of humour and love going to all these strange kinds of arts exhibitions. Kennet keeps trying to persuade me to go, but after the first one, I’ve refused every time.” Corey snorted. 

Richard had to laugh. Roxanne had tried to lure him on a couple of those as well, but he’d always managed to wiggle his way out of any commitment. Now, he was certainly glad of it, and he was also happy to hear that Corey wasn’t too fond of such things. Perhaps they did have some things in common, apart from their sexuality after all? Perhaps the age difference didn’t matter all that much? Richard fervently hoped that was true. 

“How did you manage that?” Corey asked and looked up at him. He wrinkled his nose when Richard looked at him quizzically. “Making Candice pregnant, I mean? I don’t think I could get it up for a woman even if my life depended on it.” 

Richard stiffened. He wasn’t used to having people asking him questions like that right to his face. The only one who usually didn’t back away from asking uncomfortable, intrusive questions was Roxanne and even her questions bothered Richard sometimes. To have Corey ask these things was beyond awkward. 

“I’m sorry,” Corey said ruefully. “That’s me. Always talking before thinking. I didn’t mean to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Corey moved as if to sit up, but Richard just put a heavy hand on his chest and pushed him back. Then he buried his other hand back into Corey’s unruly, dark hair. It felt just as good as it had moments ago, and the touch kind of anchored him. It was reassuring to have that extra physical connection between them. 

“It’s okay, Corey. I’m just not used to talking about these things. Candice and my life with her – it’s a sore spot.” Richard sighed and shifted a little. The sand was warm, but there was a pebble there that stuck into his buttocks uncomfortably. He tried to ignore it. 

“We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to,” Corey hastened to reassure him. “I’m ... I’m just trying to understand. I want to understand and I want to get to know you as well as you’ll let me.” 

“I know,” Richard said. “But things like that take time. All I can promise is that I will try to open up to you.” 

“I’m pushing it, aren’t I?” Corey said tiredly. “I always do. I always push when there’s something I really want.”

Corey pushed himself up and Richard followed, refusing to let the other man go, instead pulling Corey closer in a sitting position. He looked into Corey’s distressed face and thought about what he was going to say, how he was going to make sure that Corey understand that it really was okay to ask, even if he resisted at times. 

Because it was okay for Corey to ask. Anyone else? No. But Corey? Yes. 

“Yes, maybe you are pushing, just a little bit. But, to be honest, I think I need someone who is capable of pushing me a little. Look where I am now. I’m 47 years old, and I’m just now admitting to myself what I really want.” 

Richard pulled his leg up and shivered when Corey’s warm hand landed on his thigh again. He almost groaned. Yes, he really wanted this, over and over again. He really wanted Corey, more than anything. That simple touch made him hard in an instant and the desire coursed through him – so strong, so strong. 

“And what is it that you really want?”

“I want you, Corey,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want you. So much.” 

“You’ve got me,” Corey said and suddenly, Richard didn’t really know how it happened, they were kissing, on the beach. 

Sand seeped into his clothes and a tiny pebble dug into his back, but he didn’t care. All he could think of was Corey’s mouth on his, his hands in Corey’s hair, and the feel of Corey’s hand against his suddenly very insistent erection. Their legs tangled and the weight of Corey’s body against his was suddenly making him want to ... 

“Oh,” Richard groaned and it made him feel so free, so happy. “I want you, I want you.” 

It was like a mantra and he didn’t even know what it was he wanted, but he wanted something more, something... 

“Then fuck me,” Corey moaned into his ear. “Fuck me, Richard.” 

“Fuck you?” Richard said, and it was like a revelation, like someone had offered him heaven on a plate. At first. And then he was suddenly very scared. He pushed Corey away and five seconds later he was running along the beach, along the sand without knowing where he was going. 

“Richard!” Corey called after him, but he ignored the voice and kept running. Where to? He had no clue. 

 

* * *

 

Corey’s calling after him didn’t help. Richard just needed to get away from him, from his own feelings, from everything, so he kept running along the beach, running fast, until he didn’t have the strength to run anymore. He was winded and couldn’t think and his eyes hurt from the wind.

Then fuck me. Fuck me, Richard... Fuck me... Fuck me... Fuck me... 

Corey’s words echoed through his head, bouncing around in his brain like something perverse, something dirty – and something infinitely desirable. Richard finally stopped running without really knowing where he was. He sank down on the grass under a palm tree and tried to get his breathing under control. That’s when he realized he was crying. Great, big sobs that wrenched through his chest, painful both emotionally and physically. 

“Oh, hell,” he said, wiping the tears out of his eyes and off his cheeks. He was a grown man, 47 years old for heaven’s sake, and he’d known he was gay for a long time. So, why was he crying now? It was ridiculous. Still, the tears kept running down his cheeks, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop them. Finally he just cried, allowing himself to do so, without questioning it, without trying to hold back the pain that he hadn’t really been aware of until now. 

It took a while, but finally the crying subsided and the sobs diminished into deep, shuddering breaths, and Richard leaned against the trunk of the palm tree. Relaxation poured through his body, and he wondered if this wasn’t exactly what he’d needed. He’d gone through life, fighting his own inclinations for so long, denying them as completely as he could possibly do, and then he ended up here, in a place where homosexuality wasn’t only normal, but even expected and required. It was weird, and perhaps it was no small wonder that he’d cracked finally. Slowly he accepted the fact that he’d needed this, and slowly he forgave himself for running off on Corey like that. And where was Corey anyway? He’d called after Richard at first, but perhaps he was smart enough to realize that Richard actually had needed this time alone. Or perhaps he felt guilty about pushing too far too soon? Richard sighed and looked around. He realized he wasn’t all that far from the beach and there were two people at the edge of the water. It was two naked men, kissing frantically. 

Richard blushed and wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. They were so beautiful, and even if Richard had wanted to, he couldn’t see anything wrong with what they were doing. They were kissing, and both were obviously enjoying it. What could be wrong with that? Both were well built and muscular, about the same size and they were virtually just a play of shadows in the moonlit night. It was like an erotic painting that Richard just couldn’t tear his eyes away from. The two men were completely engrossed in each other. Frantic kisses were exchanged and Richard saw one of them grab the other’s ass cheeks in a strong grip, and he could hear a moan. 

That moan went to his gut like red-hot embers. He hardened instantly, and guilt washed over him. He shouldn’t be watching this, but leave the two lovers to their lovemaking. They didn’t deserve to have someone staring at them as though they were players in an x-rated movie. Richard knew he ought to leave his comfortable spot in the grass and try to find Corey and talk to him instead. They really needed to talk. The way he felt about Corey wasn’t conflicted; he knew how he felt. He wanted Corey more than anything else in the world, and his reaction had puzzled him. 

Fuck me, Richard.

The words rang in his head once more, and he shuddered, arousal and a certain amount of fear returning in full force. He could see himself and Corey doing what the other two men were doing, but...fucking, taking another man. That had always been something inherently frightening to Richard. He’d thought that he would be disgusted at the idea, but he wasn’t. It wasn’t repulsive in any way, but it was frightening in how much he actually wanted it. 

He wondered if the two men had done that? How did it feel to be buried deeply inside another man? Would it be like being inside a woman? For some reason, Richard thought it would be different. It had to be different, if for no other reason than the fact that he would really want it, in a way he’d never wanted to be inside a woman. 

Richard shoved the guilt away and kept watching the two men as their arousal grew and their awareness of the world around them seemed to diminish even more. Their touches became more intimate and they were gathering their scattered clothes, stumbling across the beach toward him. 

Richard stiffened, and feared that they would notice him and the situation would become excruciatingly awkward. He couldn’t see who the two men were, and he waited nervously as they moved toward him. Richard pulled further into the shadows and was about to convince himself that he really should leave, when he realized that he would have to walk right past the couple in order to get away, and he really didn’t cherish the thought of catching them in flagrante – or rather, showing them that he had already done so. 

One of the men lay down on the ground shamelessly, and that’s when Richard recognized them both. It was Nick and Alex. He blushed even more, but now it was impossible for him to look away. Both these men were so attractive and he also knew that he genuinely liked both of them, and he knew they wouldn’t be doing this if they weren’t enjoying it. Despite the guilt, Richard finally admitted to himself that he wasn’t going to leave, that he wouldn’t have left right now even if he could have. He was going to watch them, and he wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. They knew what they were doing, they were out in the open, where anyone could walk up and see them, and they didn’t seem to care. 

And they were both so gorgeous. 

“I’ve got condoms and lube in my pants,” Nick said. 

“Looking to get laid tonight, eh?” Alex teased, and Richard couldn’t help smiling. As if Alex hadn’t been? 

Richard watched the enticing play of muscles in Alex Martin’s legs and back as he bent forward and managed to get something out of Nick’s pants. He then proceeded to curse aloud when he dropped both items on the ground. Richard grinned when he realized that it was Nick’s steady grip on Alex’s cock that had made him lose it. 

He had full view of both men where they were lying, and he nearly gasped out loud when Nick spread his legs in blatant invitation. They were really going to fuck. Alex was going to penetrate Nick, and Nick looked like he wanted nothing else in this world. How could he lie there, so open, so willing? It must hurt. Could it really be something pleasurable to be penetrated … there?

“Here, let me help,” Nick said, his passion-rough voice barely recognizable. Richard wondered what Corey would sound like if it were he, and Richard pressed a hand against his aching hardness. If he hadn’t run away, he could have been in his bed, doing the same thing to Corey this very minute. At that moment, Richard really wanted to leave. He didn’t want to stay here and watch Nick and Alex have sex when he knew that he could be doing this with someone that he cared about instead. Instead of just watching....

But he couldn’t leave, and he really didn’t want to ruin this moment for Alex, whom he already considered a friend. Richard wondered what he and Nick would do if they knew he was sitting here, watching them. Would they get upset? Would they be embarrassed, or would they... would they invite him to join them? Richard bit his lip to contain the moan that wanted to slip out at that very thought. Instantly he felt guilty. Corey wanted him, and he wanted Corey, but by god, he was only human.

“Hurry,” Nick pleaded and tore the condom packet open with his teeth as Alex poured lubrication into his hands. 

Richard admitted that he really had wondered at the mechanics of this, especially over the course of the last two days when he’d actually let himself think about it for the very first time, but he truly hadn’t expected to get a first-hand introduction to it – not like this anyway. 

“Hang on, hang on,” Alex said and Richard could see how close Alex was. He bit his lip as though the pain would keep him from coming, and the grip around the base of his cock was all he could do to stop himself from climaxing.

Oh, poor Alex, Richard thought. It must have been a while since he did this. A strange mixture of sympathy and desire coursed through Richard, and he was glad that Alex had found someone else after he had turned him down. 

“Fuck,” Alex groaned. “I don’t want to come too soon. You’re driving me absolutely crazy here, Nick. You’re so fucking sexy.”

And he really was, spread out like a feast on the ground, with his legs drawn up and his face full of desire and need, its hollows and planes painted in the eerie, silvery light from the moon. Richard could really understand why Alex was so worked up. Richard himself was becoming painfully hard, and he brushed his hand against his own erection once more, if to clamp down on it or to relieve some of the ache, he wasn’t sure. He bit back another moan and watched intently as Nick rolled the condom onto Alex hard cock. Nick had beautiful hands, large with long, nimble fingers. He drew his hand over Alex’s erection a couple of times, and Alex moaned. Richard watched as Alex closed his eyes, his face drawn tight in intense pleasure. 

“Fuck me, Alex,” Nick said. 

Then fuck me. Fuck me, Richard. 

This time, Corey’s words echoing inside Richard didn’t frighten him, it only made him want to rise from the ground and go back to Corey, but he couldn’t move. He cursed the circumstances that put him here, at the same time as he knew that he really wouldn’t have been able to face his own desire if he hadn’t seen Alex and Nick like this. Their sexual encounter was so open and so free of guilt, and they were about to have anal intercourse right in front of him. Most of all – they didn’t seem bothered by it at all. They both wanted it, intensely, and they were going to do it. 

Richard bit his lip as he watched Alex put a lubrication-slick finger against Nick’s opening. 

“This okay?” he asked softly. 

“Yeah, yes, harder,” Nick moaned. “God, it’s been so long.”

“All the more reason to be careful, Nick,” Alex said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know, I know, just do it. Stretch me.” Nick threw his head back, baring his throat to Alex and Richard licked his lips at the sight.

Richard couldn’t see exactly what Alex was doing from his angle, but he assumed that Alex was using his fingers to stretch Nick’s tight opening. Nick really looked like he was enjoying himself as he moved his hands over his body, pinching his own nipples. 

“You look so good, Nick,” Alex groaned. “And I want to fuck you so badly.” 

“I’m here, Alex. I’m right here, and I want you to. Hard. Come on, do it, babe.” 

Babe? Richard thought. Babe? 

But Alex didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by Nick’s affectionate nickname. He just pulled his hand back and gripped the base of his cock. 

“You ready?” 

“Yeah. Boy, am I ready,” Nick said. 

Richard bit his lip, and wanted to rise or move closer just to see all of what was going on. He wanted to see Alex pushing himself inside Nick, and as though Nick had heard his thoughts he stopped Alex. 

“Wait,” he said. “Let me just move to a better spot, I’ve got a rock the size of Montana under my back.” 

“Sure, just hurry. Hurry.” 

And Nick moved around, his long, muscular limbs glistening enticingly in the moonlight. He shifted to the left, giving Richard a perfect view from the side. 

“There, that’s better. Now get on with it.” 

Richard could see it all. He could see how incredibly hard Alex was and how hard Nick was, and how much they both wanted this to happen. Alex, once again, gripped his cock at the base and positioned himself, and he could even see how Alex's cockhead sank inside Nick’s opening before Alex’s luscious ass hid their joining bodies from view. 

Alex’s tight buns flexed and relaxed as he slowly buried himself inside Nick. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Fuck me, Alex. Do it hard. Fuck, I need it hard. Don’t be gentle with me.” 

So, that might not hurt? Richard thought in wonder. He’d always imagined that it would hurt, or at least not be very pleasurable. He’d heard that some men liked it of course, but he hadn’t truly believed it. He’d always thought that the bottom only did it because it was fair, like he would just put up with it in order to be allowed to fuck the other guy when it was his turn. But now, it was obvious that Nick really wanted this, that he enjoyed being fucked, and fucked hard. As Alex started pounding into him in earnest, Nick threw his head back, baring his pale throat to Alex’s mouth, moaning loudly. 

“Fuck, so good,” he gasped. “Harder, Alex. More. Oh yeah!” 

The gasps and moans were sexy, beautiful sounds. Richard saw Alex’s face tighten in pleasure and he realized that Alex was really fighting his climax in order to make Nick enjoy this for as long as he possibly could. So it was obvious that intercourse wasn’t good just for the guy on top. How amazing. 

“Nick, damn. I’m going to come. I can’t help it. You’re so tight, you’re so hot. I can’t hold back.” 

Oh, God 

Richard nearly groaned aloud at that. He was so hard, and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his own erection through his pants, and he felt like a dirty old man, watching these men, as they loved one another. So, he stopped; he forced himself to stop as he watched Alex climaxing violently inside Nick. 

“Fuck,” Nick said. “Good God, Alex, get me off. Get me off. I’m so damn close.”

“Sorry, Nick, sorry,” Alex said. He pulled out of Nick, and then moved down his lover’s body, taking his cock inside his mouth without pausing for a second. 

Richard swallowed hard, and was amazed at how deeply Alex took Nick down his throat. Candice had never liked doing that, and had only done it once or twice when she’d desperately wanted them to have sex. It was often the only way he could get hard, but she’d never done anything like this. Alex looked like he was enjoying it thoroughly, not caring about the sloppy sounds he was making or the fact that he was drooling copious amounts of saliva over Nick’s hard shaft. 

Nick was thrashing on the grass, pulling his legs up. 

“Oh yeah, that’s good,” he moaned. “So good, Alex. Swallow me whole. Fuck, I’m going to come!” 

And Nick lifted himself to a half-sitting position to watch, to see every movement Alex was making as he sucked him off, the muscles on his broad neck standing out like ropes. Alex didn’t pull back the way Candice always used to do when Richard had been about to come. No, Alex just kept sucking and licking and as Nick came, he kept going, swallowing every drop of come that Nick pumped into his mouth. 

Richard swallowed and closed his eyes. 

Go away, he thought. Please go away so I can find Corey. I need Corey and damn, I want to fuck Corey. Now. 

He tightened his grip around his own cock in order to calm himself, and prepared to wait for the two lovebirds to leave. 

“What do you say about that swim now?” Alex said softly into Nick’s ear. 

“As soon as I can stand up again. Sure,” Nick said with a throaty laugh. “Then, how about we go back to your place and I return the favour?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I’d like that.” 

Go skinny-dipping, Richard thought. Go now!


	8. The First Time

Corey and Richard

Corey ran after Richard, calling his name, but Richard kept running further and further away along the beach until Corey couldn’t see him anymore. The lights from the hotel could be seen in the distance, the waves of the ocean lapped against he shore and this was the most romantic spot in the world. Even so, the arousal that had been overtaking Corey just minutes ago evaporated like water on a hot stove. He’d realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth, but by then it had been too late. It was too soon to ask something so elaborate of Richard. He should have waited. 

“Damn, you idiot!” Corey cursed at himself and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. There was sand everywhere, in his shoes, in his clothes and in his hair. He wouldn’t even have noticed it had it not been so hard to run after Richard in the sand. God, the guy was in good shape! This was like trying to move through ankle-deep powdered snow! 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

How could he have been so foolish? But it had gone so well so far, and he’d started to relax, thinking that Richard would react like any other guy, and jump at the chance to fuck. Once again, he’d forgotten that Richard wasn’t like any other guy. Richard just recently came to terms with the fact that he was gay, Corey reminded himself, and most guys didn’t want to fuck each other on a first date anyway! Just because Corey had been wanting to get inside Richard’s pants for such a long time didn’t give him the right to be all over the guy!

“Brilliant,” Corey said and debated whether he should run after Richard after all, and try to find him and calm him down, or if he should wait here on the beach, where he was, hoping that Richard would come back. It could be that Richard needed some time alone to think. 

Or should he just go back to his and Kennet’s cabin and wait there? Or should he go back to Richard’s bungalow? Corey rubbed his face tiredly. It was late. In fact, it was in the middle of the night and he was rather tired. Maybe he should go back to his bungalow, go to sleep and try to see Richard in the morning, and talk then? 

Corey hesitated. That might be the stupidest idea he’d ever had. If he did go to his cabin, and allowed Richard to roam around on his own, only to return to an empty bungalow, Corey would probably never see Richard again. God only knew what kind of imaginative ideas Richard would come up with if he was left to his own devices too long. Richard might think that Corey was pissed off at him for running off like that, and that was really very far from the truth. And it wasn’t as though Corey would be able to sleep even if his life depended on it. 

So, how did he feel – really? Hurt? Yes – a little. Surprised? Not so much, now that he’d had time to think about it. He really shouldn’t have done that. He really shouldn’t have said: “Fuck me, Richard,” to a guy who had barely lost his homosexual virginity. 

“Shit!” Corey cursed again and started moving back to the bungalows. His best bet would probably be to park himself on Richard’s patio and wait for him to return. Then they would have a much-needed talk. 

Corey reached Richard’s patio a few minutes later and parked himself in one of the chairs, and put his feet on the other one. It was fairly quiet outside, and the only sounds that could be heard were muted music from one of the bungalows further away, the comforting chirping of crickets and the waves hitting the shore just a few hundred yards away. The air was thick with the scent of magnolias. 

Corey closed his eyes to wait, trying to force himself to relax. It would do him no good pacing back and forth, even if the nervous energy inside him demanded that he do so. If Richard came back and saw him like that, it would most likely just aggravate the whole situation. Corey knew he had a lot riding on this. He’d wanted Richard for a pretty long time, but for Richard this whole thing was very new. Not just Corey himself, but the whole idea of a homosexual relationship. He simply had to remember that, had to stay calm and make Richard see that this didn’t have to be so difficult. So, instead of pacing, running around asking people if they’d seen Richard, he’d sit here, calm and collected and be a good listener and do everything he could to apologize to Richard for pushing too much, too hard and too soon. 

 

* * *

 

That was exactly what he was still telling himself a half hour later when he was pacing the patio back and forth, trying to contain his nervous energy. Where was Richard? Where had he gone? What was he thinking? What if he had gotten into trouble? Corey was just about to leave and start looking for the older man when he heard footsteps behind him. He felt like the regular idiot when he heard Richard’s voice and was so relieved he almost felt nauseated. 

“Corey,” Richard said, the deep voice vibrating with emotion. 

“Richard,” Corey said and drew a deep breath, but then bit back all the questions that were on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t going to ask them. He wasn’t going to sound like Richard’s mother or like a frightened, lost kid! 

“I’m sorry,” Richard said. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that. I just ... “ Richard was standing on the patio and even though the moonlight was strong, his face was half-hidden in the shadows from the palm trees, and Corey couldn’t really make out the expression on his face. 

“You scared me,” Corey said and sighed when Richard laughed a little unsteadily.

 

“That’s my line,” Richard said. “You scared me, too, by asking me to ... At first, but now...now.” 

Richard stepped further onto the patio, out of the shadows, and Corey swallowed when he finally could see the expression on Richard’s face. His eyes travelled slowly over Corey’s body, and there was hunger there, heat, hotter than anything Corey had seen in Richard’s eyes before. 

“And now...?” he queried shakily, hoping that he wasn’t mistaken. 

“Now, I just want to take you up on it, right away,” Richard whispered. “God, I really want to fuck you.”

Geeze, that was a sudden change of heart. But the words sent heat straight down to Corey’s cock and he nearly groaned aloud. Instead, he held up his hands in defence. “Woah, wow. Where did that come from?”

But he didn’t have much of a chance at deferring Richard, who just walked closer and pushed him inside the bungalow with his body. A hard, decisive shove, and Corey’s mind instantly went blank when he felt Richard’s strong, wiry body against his, the hot hardness of Richard’s arousal pressing into him, and the urgency of the kisses claiming his lips. He couldn’t help responding to those kisses. They were so hungry, and so desperate. 

Richard pulled back for a few seconds, his eyes burning into Corey’s “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “I promise, we’ll talk later. Now let me pick up where we left off and let me do this right. Okay?” 

They should talk, now, before they did anything else. Corey knew that, and he should stop this, before they ruined everything, but ... He couldn’t, he couldn’t. He wanted this way too much to be the voice of reason, and Corey wasn’t about to argue when Richard’s eager hands moved over his body, sliding down his chest, his stomach and down to his pants, opening the fly deftly. Apparently, Richard was a fast learner. Some form of rational thought tried to make itself noticed inside Corey, and he opened his mouth to talk, but the words just evaporated and he gasped, as Richard’s hand wrapped around his hard cock. Those fingers were so warm and so certain. Who was he to argue with such determination? And yet … Corey closed his eyes for a second and forced the words from his mouth. 

“Are you sure about this, Richard?” Even as he protested, Corey arched into Richard’s touch, groaning, forgetting where they were. Richard’s hand was warm, hot around him, and the muscular body that wrapped him up was sexy, so sexy.... God. He’d wanted this for too damn long. What did the world expect of him anyway? How could anyone ask of him that he should be the reasonable one when he was finally getting what he’d wanted for weeks – months – his entire life it felt like. 

“Yes, I am sure,” Richard said with that dark, velvety voice, whispering right into Corey’s ear. He shivered and gave in. What else could he do? 

“All right, Richard. Then I’m just going to say it again, and if you bolt this time, I’ll never forgive you.” Corey’s voice was trembling, but he wanted to say it again, and see Richard react the way he had hoped he would the first time he’d said it.

“Say it,” Richard encouraged, and pulled back a little, his eyes staring into Corey’s, still so very passionate. Corey searched them, trying to find any trace of fear in them, but there was none. “I want to hear you say it again.” 

And Corey repeated the words from earlier. “Fuck me, Richard. Damn it, just fuck me.” 

Corey bounced on the bed, as Richard pushed him down. Panic rushed through Corey for a short second, as he was half expecting to see Richard run off again. It took several seconds before he noticed that Richard was pulling at Corey’s shoes, getting rid of them, not heeding where they fell as he dropped them, then moved onto the pants, and his boxers. Corey groaned as the deft fingers brushed against his almost painfully hard cock. Sooner than he could have expected, Corey was lying nude on the bed, and he sighed happily, spreading his legs in invitation. 

“God, Richard,” Corey said as Richard’s warm hands moved up his legs, and the insides of his thighs. The grip of Richard’s hands was surprisingly strong and confident and Corey shivered as the other man’s fingers brushed the coarse hairs on his legs and thighs, almost, but not quite, reaching his balls. 

“Do you have anything we can use for lubrication?” Richard asked. 

Shit, Corey knew there was something he should have remembered, and he was surprised that Richard knew about the use of lube. He’d said earlier that he knew nothing about the mechanics of gay sex. What did he do before he came back – run off to the hotel library and read up about anal intercourse? Was that why he’d bolted? Corey couldn’t stop the laughter that spilled over his lips. It sounded shaky. Corey should be the one to tell Richard what to do, but his brain – and other parts – was melting completely. 

“No,” he gasped. “I haven’t got anything. I have condoms in my wallet, but no lube. Damn, Richard. Just forget about it.”

“No,” Richard said, and Corey threw a hand over his face, wishing he’d thought of bringing something, anything. But he hadn’t. Was Richard just taking that as an excuse for not continuing? Corey nearly groaned aloud as he felt the rush of air when Richard moved away and was gone. 

But if Richard needed an excuse not to go through with this, they really shouldn’t be doing it anyway. Corey reached out and wrapped a hand around his painfully hard erection, trying to lessen the need a little, trying to ignore the emptiness he felt. He wanted to be fucked. He’d wanted to be fucked ever since he stepped into Richard’s bungalow earlier that same night, but he just wasn’t going to get it. Not now, anyway, and he would have to accept that. At least, Richard’s initial surprise and fright at the whole idea had evaporated. He was more open to the thought, and maybe, just maybe, Corey would get what he wanted – some day if not tonight. 

“Here, will this do?” Richard said and threw something onto the bed. That something bounced against Corey’s side and he pulled his arm away from his face, glancing at the item. It was a tube, and Corey reached out to read the label. 

“Baby oil? Where the hell did you get baby oil?”

Richard grinned sheepishly. “It was in the bathroom cabinet when I got here. Perhaps the previous couple that lived here used it on a regular basis. Didn’t think I would have any use for it, but there you go.” 

“I thought...”

“God, you look hot like that, Corey,” Richard interrupted, and Corey realized his other hand was still wrapped around his erection and he grinned at Richard. 

“You like this?” he said, moving his hand up and down his cock, lazily. The sparks in his body seemed to be flying wild at his own touch, but that wasn’t what was doing it for him. What was doing it for him was the view of a fully dressed Richard, with his hands in his pockets, a large bulge tenting the front, and Richard looking at him as though he was a gift from the gods themselves. Richard licked his lips as if they had suddenly gone very dry, and Corey kept touching himself, realizing he was getting really close, just from this. The look in Richard’s eyes – it was absolutely sizzling. Part of him wanted to continue this and just watch Richard’s face as he masturbated himself to climax. Richard turned him on so fiercely, and Corey couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before. 

“Want to watch me come, Richard?” Corey asked then, his voice coarse. He suddenly decided to forget all about the fucking. He could lie here; revelling in Richard’s reactions as he was watching while Corey jerked himself off. 

“You’re making a very tempting offer,” Richard admitted. “But I think you know what I want right now.” 

Corey was surprised at Richard’s quick change of mind and attitude, but at the same time, he realized that although Richard was a virgin when it came to men, he was no blushing young boy. He’d had sex before, and he’d even been married for quite a few years. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all that once he’d gotten over the initial shock, he’d take to this like fish to water? Whatever the reason was, Corey was grateful beyond belief. 

“Take off your clothes,” Corey whispered. “I want to see you now.” 

And he watched as Richard’s longish, ash-blond hair fell into his eyes, as he looked down on himself, opening his belt, and the button of the slacks he was wearing. Richard wasn’t good-looking in the traditional sense perhaps, with a large, hawkish nose and a mouth that always seemed to be closer to a sneer than a smile, but Corey found him incredibly attractive. Last time they’d been naked together was in the shower, and he hadn’t been this aroused then, but now he watched Richard, relearning the older man’s body. He allowed himself to really notice the bare chest with hair sprinkled across the pectoral muscles, the pale, very smooth skin and the muscular, well defined legs and the strong hands. The cock stood proudly erect in its dark-blond nest of curls. 

I want you inside me, Corey thought. Now. I don’t want to wait. 

“Richard,” Corey whispered and their gazes locked. Corey reached for the tube of baby oil and threw it to Richard. Richard smiled a little tersely, but uncapped the tube without pausing. He moved to his knees onto the bed, and it dipped slightly beneath his weight. Corey spread his thighs apart in an invitation that couldn’t be misunderstood, and Richard went on all fours above him. Corey wanted to arch into the body above him, but lay perfectly still, forcing himself to wait, to see what Richard would do. 

“I won’t leave you this time,” Richard said, softly. “Whatever happens, I won’t run out on you, I promise.” The look in Richard’s eyes was very sincere, and slightly apologetic behind the desire. 

“If only I knew what made you change your mind,” Corey began and brushed his hand over the other man’s bristled chin, but Richard hushed him and put a finger against his lips. Corey sucked the digit inside his mouth, playfully, not at all opposed to waiting until Richard was ready to tell him what had happened. He didn’t want to talk now anyway. 

“I’m going to squirt baby oil all over the place, if you keep that up,” Richard warned, his voice somewhat strained. 

Corey let go of his finger. “We can’t have that, can we?” he teased, and pulled his legs up a little, again inviting Richard to prepare him for sex. 

“You do know what to do, don’t you, Richard?” Corey said, softly.

“Yes, I do, but you will have to tell me if I hurt you,” Richard cautioned. “I don’t want to cause any pain.”

“I don’t usually tense up much,” Corey explained. “Just as long as you don’t go in dry, I’ll be fine.” 

Richard pulled back a little and squirted some of the baby oil into his hands. It wasn’t very thick and some of it dropped onto Corey’s stomach. Corey gasped. It was cold.

“You’d better warm it up a little,” he suggested and Richard smiled, rubbing the slick essence into his fingers and moving his hand between Corey’s ass cheeks. As he rubbed his fingertips against the crease, Corey hissed and threw his head back. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god. So good. Richard’s hands, Richard’s hands. 

Apparently, he’d lost all ability for coherent thought. 

“Go on,” he begged. “Go on.” 

“I need to get one of these condoms on,” Richard said. 

“Condom? Oh, fuck the condom!” Corey moaned, but knew that wasn’t a good idea. They didn’t know each other that well, so he sat up and said: “Give it here.”

Richard threw the condom at him and watched as Corey bit into the packet with his teeth and pulled the condom out, then swiftly rolled it onto Richard before either of them had much time to think about what he was doing. Then he lay back on the bed. 

“Now, get on with it,” Corey begged. “Please.” 

“You’re a pushy bastard, you know that,” Richard said, but there was no seriousness behind his complaint. 

“Yeah, I get that way when I want to be fucked really badly,” Corey admitted. “It’s a personal flaw.”

“And here I thought that only the top would enjoy the fucking,” Richard muttered and Corey didn’t know what to say at first. He was kind of shocked at the words. How could anyone believe … on the other hand, Corey knew that some men didn’t like to be the bottom. He just wasn’t one of them. 

“Oh, trust me, Richard. I’m going to love this. I’m going to love it so much, just as long as you do it sometime this week,” he pleaded. Corey knew he probably shouldn’t push so hard, but he was horny and he wanted this very badly, and Richard just looked awestruck at everything. 

“I need to stretch you, don’t I?” Richard said and shot him a questioning look. 

“Yeah, you do,” Corey admitted, and lay back into position and hissed as Richard’s tentative touch returned to the vicinity of his rectum. The touch was light, and so maddening. Corey licked his lips and bit back another moan of impatience. He was so sensitive there, and he knew not all guys wanted to be fucked as much as he did, but he wanted it and he wanted it now, and ... God, if Richard didn’t... 

“Yessss!” he hissed at the first sensation of Richard’s slick finger pushing into him. He thrust himself onto the slim intruder. “Fuck me,” Corey moaned. “Just go on. Add another one, and then stretch me a little and then I want your cock inside me. Richard, for fuck’s sake, I’ve wanted this for so long. Don’t keep me waiting any... ohhh!” 

Richard heeded his prayer and added another finger, scissoring them in the opening, getting him ready and Corey was grateful to notice that he really wasn’t tensing up. 

“You’re doing good, Richard,” Corey remembered to say. “Now,” he begged then. “Fuck me, Richard.” He was almost sobbing now and as Richard moved into position, he dug his hands into that thick, blond hair and pulled Richard down for a wet, sloppy kiss, sucking Richard’s tongue into his mouth at the same moment as Richard’s cock pushed inside him. 

He surged up, meeting the thrust with all he had, and it was like liquid fire had been poured into his bones. He felt like he was going to burn up, and cried out as Richard pulled out and thrust back in. Richard paused for a moment and looked down at Corey’s face. 

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t hurting Corey, was he?

“Are you okay, Corey?” he asked cautiously, but Corey was gone, totally gone, his face twisting in pleasure. Until Corey noticed he wasn’t moving. The beautiful eyes flew open and he hissed: “’s good. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

That’s when Richard finally dared to let go completely. He pulled back and gave into the pleasure that coursed through him. Corey’s tight grip around him, the friction and the heat – it all went beyond description. And the view … 

Heaven. 

Corey was so beautiful in his passion; his eyes were closed tightly, and his teeth bit into his lip. Richard buried his face in the crook of Corey’s neck, inhaling the scent there, He smelled so good, so fucking good. Heat coursed through Richard, pooling low in his belly as he kept fucking Corey, mindlessly, harder and harder, and Corey just seemed to want more, taking everything he had to give. Richard had never felt anything like it, never felt such overwhelming passion. 

“Yes. Oh fuck, Richard. This is so good.” 

The pleasure built so fast, and Richard thought he was going to explode. He bit into the muscle at Corey’s shoulder, burying himself inside that tight channel, over and over again. It felt so good, so much better than he had ever imagined. And Corey loved this every bit as much as Nick had loved it when Alex fucked him, there was no doubt about it. He lifted his head and looked into Corey’s face. Sweat pooled on his forehead, and the dark hair was plastered to his skin, the red, full lips were parted and he was panting, moaning, and the noises seemed only to enhance everything. Candice had been a quiet lover, she never said anything. 

“I’m … gonna come, Richard”, Corey groaned. “You’re so hard … feel so good. Let me feel you … your cock. Harder. So good, so good. You’ve … no idea … how good! 

Corey’s fingers dug into his back, his shoulders, desperately and he writhed, and met every thrust with total abandon. Corey’s lips, so red, so hot. Richard wanted to feel them against his and he took them, hard, and there was no hesitation on Corey’s part. He opened up and let Richard’s tongue into his mouth, sucking it, playing with it. 

“Oh”, Richard groaned. “Oh … oh … oh.”

It really was good. Nothing like fucking Candice had been. The sensation of hard, powerful and wiry muscles against his, instead of soft female flesh, was raw pleasure. There was no comparison, nothing could be better than this. Nothing! 

At that moment, Richard realized that he wanted to be on the receiving end, wanted to know what it was like to have another man’s cock – Corey’s cock – buried inside him, giving pleasure like that. The thought of lying beneath Corey like this taking him inside, like Corey was doing to him right at this moment, was enough to push him over the edge. 

“Oh, oh, fuck … fuck!” he groaned as the pleasure tore violently through him. 

He managed to pump into Corey once more, twice before he lost it, pouring himself inside Corey. He was followed by his lover scant seconds later, as though the muffled words that Richard let out was enough to make Corey come as well.


	9. Interludes

Richard and Corey

 

”What happened?” Corey asked. “To change your mind, I mean,” he clarified. 

Richard turned his head and looked at Corey. They were lying beside each other in the large bed of his bungalow, enjoying the aftermath of what was positively the best sex Richard had ever had. Richard was enjoying the heavy weight of Corey’s head on his arm, and knew that perhaps now, everything was going to work out well. 

Corey’s hair was tousled and it hung in damp strands over his forehead. He was still flushed, and his lips were swollen from their kissing. Richard thought he had never seen anything so attractive before in his life. Corey really looked well fucked, and for some reason that made Richard feel truly proud. Now that the urgency was gone, he couldn’t help laughing at Corey’s innocent question. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Flashes of Nick and Alex together on the beach flitted through his mind, mingled with images of himself driving deep into Corey’s ass. All images were a turn-on, but the thought of himself inside Corey that way made his chest feel … warm. 

“Try me,” Corey said dryly. “Don’t try to wiggle your way out of this conversation. First, I get turned on and ask you to fuck me and you run off like––”

“Like a blushing virgin?” Richard interrupted, trying to hold back the amusement in his voice, and failing miserably. He turned on his side and drew his hand across Corey’s flat stomach, tangling his fingers in the soft hairs there. Corey hissed a little, probably more because it tickled than anything else. Surely, not even Corey had that much stamina? 

“Yeah, that’s as good an epithet as any – like a blushing virgin,” Corey agreed. “Then you come back and practically jump me, having no problems whatsoever shoving your admittedly sexy cock up my ass. Something must have happened in between that virgin act and the studly attack. Something major.”

Richard sighed, and met Corey’s gaze. The brown eyes looked at him with curiosity, mingled with concern. 

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Something happened.” 

“Tell me,” Corey said, turning on his side as well, snuggling closer to Richard. Richard sighed deeply and knew that he really wanted to tell Corey what happened, but first … 

“I just want to say something before I explain.”

“All right, but then you’re telling me.”

“Yes, I’m telling you. I just want to make sure you know that I did want to fuck you. You just surprised me, that’s all. This … whole thing … “ Richard began and waved his hand in the air indeterminably. “You know – being gay, is still pretty new to me, and the idea that anyone would actually enjoy being ... fucked, was kind of difficult for me to understand. I’ve always lived under the assumption that the bottom guy sort of just put up with it. Tit for tat, you know. ‘If you get to fuck me, I can fuck you,’ sort of, thinking that the one doing the fucking was the only one getting anything out of it.” 

“Oh,” Corey said. His eyes went wide as saucers. “You really are innocent, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and stupid – obviously.” 

Corey didn’t reply to that, but took Richard’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm with a wicked smile on his lips. “And what made you realize that your assumption is about as wrong as anything I’ve ever heard before? Ever hear of the prostate?” 

Richard laughed. “Yeah, I heard of it, but... “

“But you’ve never read anything about gay sex before?”

“Not really,” Richard admitted. “My own attitude was pretty much to dig my head into the sand and forget the whole thing.” 

“’The whole thing’ being your own sexual orientation. Good God,” Corey said. “How did you manage to do that for forty-seven years and not go mad?” 

“I wouldn’t have made it if I’d known what it could be like,” Richard admitted. 

Corey’s self-satisfied smile would have made Richard want smack the boy if it hadn’t been so well-deserved. 

“But you’ve fucked women,” he pointed out.

“A woman,” Richard corrected and sighed. “It wasn’t all that arousing, to tell the truth. We didn’t do it very often and it took a lot of work for her to get me going. I’m surprised she didn’t cheat on me on a number of occasions. Truth is, I’ve never been one to enjoy sex all that much.”

Corey just stared at him. “You could have fooled me.”

“Yeah,” Richard wasn’t sure if the sound he made was a laugh or something else. It sounded slightly bitter. “I had no idea that sex could be so pleasurable.”

“That is so sad,” Corey said and brushed his fingers across Richard’s cheek. The lump in his throat grew larger and he closed his eyes. It really was sad, but by god, he’d cried enough for one day – for a year – already. 

“Especially not getting fucked,” Corey said. 

“Yeah. Especially that, but you didn’t seem to have anything to complain about,” Richard pointed out. “In fact, you seemed to be enjoying yourself thoroughly.” He pulled the covers over them, and they snuggled together. Richard couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so content. The warmth of Corey in his arms felt so right. He really didn’t want this moment to end. 

“I was enjoying myself. I love being fucked. ,” Corey said and paused for a second, then pulled Richard closer, kissing him softly. His eyes met Richard’s seriously. “Don’t freak on me now, Richard,” Corey said. 

Richard hesitated, but then nodded. “All right. I promise that I won’t freak on you. I have a feeling that I know what you’re going to say...”

“It’s great, Richard. It’s wonderful. I never feel so hot as when I’ve got another man inside me. It’s like nothing else.” 

“And you want me to know what it’s like?” Richard said hesitantly, not pulling away but still feeling the butterflies in his stomach. He wanted it, he really did, but it was something so new, so different. 

“I’ll prove to you just how good it can be to be on the receiving end one of these days. I promise you that.” Corey said softly. “But not until you want it. Not until you’re ready. I promise you.” 

“And what if I don’t like it?” Richard said, the butterflies slowing down at Corey’s words. Corey looked like he wasn’t the least bit worried that this would happen. That made Richard even less nervous, although the excitement was still there. Part of him wanted Corey to do it, right now. 

“If you don’t want it, that’s okay,” Corey said. “There are guys who don’t like to be fucked, but I do. And if it’s done right, I can almost promise you that you’ll enjoy it too. If you don’t – it’s not a big deal. I like being on the bottom. But now, you’re going to have to tell me what changed your mind.” Corey dug his fingers into Richard’s sides threateningly. 

Richard laughed and relaxed even more. Corey seemed to know exactly what to say and what to do to make him feel comfortable. At least sometimes …

“All right. Just don’t tickle me. I will tell you.”

“I’m waiting....” 

Richard smiled and started talking. 

“When I ran away from you, I didn’t really know where I was going, but I ran past the bungalows, further down along the beach. It was further away than the lit path and I saw this couple on the beach. I think you have seen both of them. Nick works at the hotel.” Richard smiled at the memory of the two men kissing on the beach. They’d been so caught up with one another that Richard wondered if they’d even have noticed him if he’d gone up and left in the middle of their love-making. But he was really glad he hadn’t. 

Corey frowned but nodded after a while. “Yeah, Nick’s tall, muscular and with a crew cut. Chiselled face.”

“That’s the guy, and the other one was Alex, the guy who lives across the path from here. The guy you thought I was dating.”

“Yeah, I remember him.” Corey sounded a little put out at that. 

Richard chuckled. “He’s not my type, Corey. Besides – he and Nick were having sex on the beach. I was sitting under the palm trees and by the time I noticed them and what they were doing it was too late...” Richard proceeded to tell Corey about Nick and how much he’d wanted Alex, his reactions. “He reacted kind of like you did, like he really, really enjoyed it, and that Nick’s rough treatment didn’t bother him one bit.”

“And you saw this? You watched them?” Corey’s face split into a huge grin. “You pervert!”

“Yeah, I know. Not a blushing virgin exactly. I think it’s the hottest thing I ever saw,” Richard admitted sheepishly.

“I’m glad you saw them,” Corey said seriously. “If you hadn’t, maybe you’d never have come back to me?”

Richard pulled Corey into his arms and yawned. “I think I would have. Eventually. You’re very hard to resist, Corey.”

“I hope you’ll think so when we get back home,” Corey said seriously. ‘

Richard’s heart leapt at that. The whole idea of going home, with Corey made his heart sing, and it made his palms sweat. The thought of his friends finding out the truth, not just Roxanne really made him nervous. But he wanted it. By god, he wanted it, and right now, he was going to enjoy his vacation on the Resort, with Corey, and allow himself to not worry about things like that. 

“I think I will, Corey. I think I will.” 

 

Nick and Alex. 

 

“So, what do you do for a living?” Nick asked. Alex lay beside him in bed, half-asleep apparently. It seemed as though Alex got really tired after sex, as most men that Nick had met, whereas Nick himself was one of those energetic types that got the blood pumping and adrenaline running afterwards. Of course, he’d already asked this, and knew what Alex did for a living. He just needed a good opening. 

“Mm, Plumbing,” Alex said sleepily. 

“Plumbing, you say?”

“Yeah, I told you that before. What about it?” Alex lifted his tousled head from the pillow he’d beat into submission only minutes ago. Peering at Nick, obviously trying to get his higher brain-functions to work again, he waited. 

“I don’t know. You said you like this place, right?” 

“Yeah, what’s not to like? Sun is shining all the time, beach a couple of hundred yards from where I live, nobody looking at you funny because you’re gay. It’s fucking paradise.” 

Nick drew his hand over his flat stomach, picking at imaginary lint. He needed something to occupy his hands with. This was ridiculous. He wanted Alex to stay. He didn’t want to let go of this guy. Not yet. God knew it was stupid to try and hold onto someone you’d just met, but still... Even if what they were to each other didn’t turn out to be anything serious, he’d still be doing Alex a favour, wouldn’t he?

“There’s an opening for a plumber at the hotel,” Nick said. 

Alex looked pole-axed. Nick thought he looked pretty damned adorable.

“And here I was worrying about asking if you’d like to stay the night,” Alex said and suddenly seemed wide awake. He pushed the pillow aside and sat up, looking intently at Nick. “Obviously, that’s not a problem?” 

Nick couldn’t stand that look. What if he’d made a mistake? What if Alex wasn’t at all that interested in him. He was kind of stupid, and he never acted like this – this … impulsively. He always thought things through. 

But maybe that was the problem. Yeah, it could be the problem, so Nick decided to continue after all. What did he have to lose?

“No. Listen, Alex,” Nick said and bounced out of bed. He stood at the windows, looking out, not caring if anyone saw him there, stark naked. They’d not see anything they hadn’t seen before. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I’m not saying we should move in together or anything. Don’t get me wrong, but I do like you. I am attracted to you, and if you want to stay here at the resort, there’s an opening for a plumber. You could apply and we could take it from there.” Nick thought that sounded a whole lot more desperate when voiced aloud than it had done inside his head. He winced and turned around to look at Alex. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, his eyes even more alert. Running his hands through his hair, he looked a lot younger than he had done earlier. 

“I like you, too, Nick, but this is a really big thing,” Alex said. “Besides, I thought you said you were tired of this place.”

“It changes from day to day, to be honest,” Nick said. “Sometimes I really feel like I need to get away from here, and sometimes, I feel as though I want to stay forever. The work is good, the pay is good, and it is a nice place to be.” 

Alex got out of bed to stand beside Nick, looking out through the window as well. The closeness felt comfortable, and a little unsettling to Nick so he concentrated on looking at the ocean outside. The view really was spectacular. In the middle of the night, the moonlight painted everything in dark blue hues, and the glimmering water looked like it was made of mercury. Alex could probably learn to like it here. 

“You really want me to stay?” Alex whispered.

Nick drew a deep breath and then turned his gaze from the beautiful nature outside and to the man beside him. Alex was beautiful as well, in an entirely different way. He was muscular, and nearly as tall as Nick, with brown, chocolaty eyes. Thick, dark hair fell insolently across his forehead, but what more was that Nick felt as though he could relax in Alex’s presence. If Duncan had told him last night that he and Alex would be getting along so well that Nick would ask him to stay at the resort, Nick would have laughed himself silly. He would also have called the men with the long, white shirt that tied in the back and asked them to haul Duncan away. 

“Yeah, I would like you to stay,” he admitted. Nothing to lose, remember? he told himself sternly, when the butterflies in his stomach seemed to be getting even more restless. 

Alex stood there looking out the window. The moonlight shone in his face and painted the youthful face in intricate shadows. He remained silent for a long time, and despite the fact that Nick really wanted to know the answer, he was content to let Alex think. He might have to wait a few days before Alex knew what he wanted. Nick would have to accept that. 

“All right, I will apply for the job,“ Alex said suddenly. “On a couple of conditions.”

Nick swallowed. He hadn’t expected an answer so soon. But then he nodded. “All right. What conditions?”

“I want you to call your manager in the morning and ask for some time off. Then I want you to go back home with me and spend a week or so in my apartment. If we both still feel the same way after that, I’ll go with you, back here, and I’ll find a job, whether or not I get the position as hotel plumber at the Pyramid. Deal?” 

Nick swallowed and pulled Alex into his arms. 

“Deal,” he whispered. “When do we leave?”

Alex laughed and put his arms around Nick’s shoulders. “Right after my vacation’s over. If you don’t want me to go with you after that week … I don’t want to miss out on a week in paradise. How soon can you get time off?”

”Soon”, Nick said reassuringly. “I’ve got loads of vacation time to claim.”

 

Brandon and Jake

 

Brandon wasn't usually the brooding type, but he'd been scared shitless when he'd seen the look on Jake's face, so he’d left. Usually when someone said something to make him upset, he'd explode in anger and scream and throw things and maybe even hit someone, but this time he hadn't reacted that way, because he had been – not scared – but frightened, as in really terrified. Jake had the means to really hurt him and that made him more scared than he’d ever been in his life. 

Jake's pale-grey eyes had widened when he’d understood how Brandon truly felt, and Brandon had seen fear in Jake’s eyes as well, and something that he desperately hoped wasn't pity. Brandon had walked for hours and come to the conclusion that the best thing would be to just cut this off right away and go back home, and he'd just said as much to Jake. 

"Are you sure that is what you really want, Brandon?" Jake asked softly and rose from the bed where he’d been lying with his clothes on. It was kind of obvious that he’d been staying awake, waiting for Brandon, so they could talk. 

But Jake’s words made that all encompassing anger swallow Brandon. It was like a pressure cooker that finally exploded. It happened so quickly he couldn't control it. He moved toward Jake, quick as thought, grabbed the black shirt and shoved Jake up against the wall, hard.

"Fuck you!" he said vehemently. "You don't ask me that. Don't you fucking dare ask me that!"

He couldn't stand it if that was pity he saw in Jake's eyes. The darkness made it difficult to tell and that pain inside him grew stronger because of the uncertainty. He and Jake had been friends for too long for him to be able to bear if Jake felt pity. He could live with not being any more than just a friend to Jake, but fuck it if he would live with having to be some kind of charity project in Jake's life. 

No way. 

"Calm down, Brandon," Jake said and shoved Brandon's hands away from his shirt. "Calm down. I mean it. I really want to know what you want. What is it that you're looking for? Truly?" Jake’s voice was soothing and his hands on Brandon’s shoulders were firm and warm. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t pity Brandon saw in those pale-blue eyes, maybe it was … understanding?

"You know what I want, Jake," Brandon said and moved closer so that their bodies connected from knee to shoulders. Damn it if he wasn't growing hard again. He'd promised he wouldn't do this. He'd promised himself that he would never let Jake fuck him again, and still he wanted just that, wanted it so damn much he couldn't think. It didn’t matter if it was out of pity or compassion or why, just as long as Jake did fuck him. 

"No, damn it," Jake said, putting his hands on Brandon's chest and pushed him away. "I don't know! That's the whole fucking point, you idiot! If I really knew what you wanted, I wouldn't have to ask, would I?" 

"Why do you even ask, Jake?" Brandon said, anger seeping out of him like air out of a pricked balloon. "You don’t care, so it doesn't really matter anyway." He moved away from Jake, as far away as he could get and sat on the bed. 

"Yes, it does, because I care," Jake protested and came to sit next to him. "It does matter, and I ask because I don't even really know what I want. I told you, I didn't know how you felt. I had no idea you cared about me. Not that way. I thought we were just friends. Good friends who have nice sex." Jake paused. "Fucking spectacular sex, if you ask me." 

Brandon looked up and watched Jake's face, and he was sort of closed off, the full lips pressed together in a stern line and the grey eyes looking at nothing, just staring off into the distance. 

"So, you want to know what I want, Jake, huh? Is that it?" he said. 

Well, maybe he should tell Jake the truth, just like that. Tell him of all the hopes and dreams he'd had about the two of them ever since they'd had that...relationship. He didn't even know what to call it. They'd been friends, they'd fucked and they'd spent a whole lot more time together back then than they had for a long time now. Sure, they still talked, still spent time together, but their friendship was less intense, and Brandon really hated it that he saw so little of Jake nowadays. That's what this trip had really been about. It was true that he'd gotten the tickets from the resort because the magazine wanted him to do a piece on the place, but he'd asked Jake to come with him here for one reason and one reason only. He'd hoped they'd become more than friends, more than just fuck-buddies. 

Jake's eyes cleared and he turned his face toward Brandon. "You know what, Brandon? I've really been a stupid fuck, haven't I?" 

"Why would you say that?" Brandon really didn't understand what Jake was getting at. 

"I've been really single-minded. I've only been thinking about the band and the music and I've spent so much time with them that I've practically forgotten what it's like to live a little. I've forgotten that there's more to life than music." 

"Like what?" 

"Like love, I suppose." 

"Love?" Brandon hated the way he squeaked. He sounded like a frightened girl.

Jake shot him an amused look and Brandon felt the tension in his body recede, just a little. 

"Hey, that's how I felt when you looked at me like I was...." Jake's voice drifted away. "You know, right after we fucked. You scared me! And then you left and that scared me even more." Jake’s voice was unusually soft, and Brandon listened to it. Part of what attracted him so much to Jake was his voice, that sexy British accent and the deep huskiness of it. 

"I didn't know you were so easily frightened," Brandon teased, hope flaring inside him. He forced himself to draw in a calming breath and turned serious again. "So, what are you really saying, Jake?" 

"I'm saying I think that I want to try this out. If I've understood you right," Jake said, suddenly sounding a little uncertain. 

"If you think that I want you to myself, if you think that I don't want you to fuck around, and that I want to wake up next to you in the mornings and go to bed with you at night. You've understood me right," Brandon said. His heart was hammering in his chest and his mouth went dry, but at the same time it felt like a relief to finally say it aloud to Jake. "I want you all the time, Jake. All the fucking time, and you're never around anymore. Move in with me; be my friend, my roommate, be my partner. Be mine." 

Jake looked at him and swallowed, and Brandon waited, with his heart in his throat.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know what to say,” Jake said and rose from the bed. “I ....”

He really didn’t know what to say. The whole idea of moving in with another guy, even if it was Brandon, scared him. To not live alone, to not be able to decide whatever he wanted to do whenever he wanted it... What if they had a fight? Where would he go? 

“You don’t want to,” Brandon said and rubbed his hands against his jeans as though he was suddenly extremely nervous. 

That made Jake want to hit something. He was just working through stuff. Why did Brandon have to push so hard? He’d never lived with a guy before… That wasn’t quite true. He’d lived with a whole bunch of guys before. He’d lived in crummy hotels with the members of Bloody Corpses a lot of times, but that was different. 

Wasn’t it? 

“Fuck it, Brandon,” Jake said exasperatedly. “Do I really have to answer this right away? Could you give a guy a chance?”

At least he could be allowed to think about the whole thing before making a decision. He’d just realized that maybe, just maybe, he felt more for Brandon than he’d considered before, and the guy practically wanted to fucking marry him! 

“Oh, yeah, sure. Right.” Brandon looked like a kicked puppy, and Jake felt like the biggest asshole in the known universe. 

“Come on, Brandon,” Jake said, a whole lot softer, and slid down on the bed beside Brandon again. “It’s difficult. I do want to try this, but going from being single – and a happy single at that – to talking about moving in with you in the space of a heartbeat... Add to that it’s just been a few hours after I found out that you’re in love with me. It’s... it’s a bit much to take in, you know? I just need to work it through a little before deciding what to do. Get it?”

“Yeah,” Brandon said and looked up at him, smiling a little uncertainly. He looked so lost that Jake’s heart constricted. He’d always looked at Brandon like the kind of guy that never let anything tie him down, never let anything get him down even, and now. Now Brandon looked at him like he was the centre of the universe. It was unsettling, and it was ... sweet. 

Geez. Sweet. 

He leaned forward, putting an arm around his friend – his best friend – and gave him a hug. Brandon’s arms came around him and they sat there for just a moment, holding each other. It was nice, Jake decided. He couldn’t remember when someone had simply held him the last time, without wanting to have sex. He wrapped his arms tighter around Brandon and drew in the scent of him. He’d washed his hair with something that smelled really good and Jake pulled Brandon down on the bed beside him. 

“This is nice,” he whispered and Brandon sighed contentedly. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s really nice.” 

Jake thought that he might be able to get used to this. 

“You know,” he said after a while, feeling Brandon’s hand rub gently over his back. 

“Yeah?” 

“Why don’t we try this out for a week, while we’re here? Let’s have a good time, let’s fuck and let’s dance and let’s get drunk together, and then, when we get back home, we’ll have a nice, long talk and decide what to do next. Can you live with that decision, Brandon?”

Jake knew that perhaps it wasn’t very nice of him to say that, perhaps he was being a selfish bastard, but wasn’t it better to allow himself to at least get used to the idea before promising Brandon something more, something he might not be able to keep?

“Yeah,” Brandon said softly. “I can live with that. It’s a whole lot more than I had when we got here.”

 

Connor and Kennet

 

”I can’t stay any longer,” Kennet said as the Corvette pulled up outside the Pyramid hotel. 

Connor sighed. Kennet was playing some kind of game that Connor didn’t have the rulebook for. He had a sneaking suspicion that only Kennet did, and that he wrote the rules as he went along. 

“So,” Connor said, trying to sound casual. “When will I see you again?” 

If he’d had a gun, he’d probably have shot himself on the spot. He’d never asked that question in his entire life. He’d sworn he never would, and here he was, with this guy, Kennet, and he was breaking all the rules he’d set up for himself since he was old enough to have sex. Which had been rather early in his case. 

Kennet smiled at him, leaned over and kissed him quickly. Far too quickly for Connor’s taste and he reached out and put his hand on the back of Kennet’s head. He dug his fingers through the long, thick hair, holding Kennet still for a few moments while he explored the other man’s mouth thoroughly and slowly deepened the kiss. He greedily allowed himself to enjoy it. Kennet tasted so good, and Connor could feel the stirrings of arousal again. He’d never met anyone who turned him on so easily or so fiercely as this man, and it was a little unsettling. Connor wasn’t used to not being able to control his desires to the point of perfection, but now he clamped down on the overwhelming desire, and let go of Kennet. He couldn’t let all the control just slip through his fingers. But when he pulled away, Kennet was smiling openly, as though Connor had done something very good. 

“How about tomorrow?” Kennet said. “I need to get back to Corey and my cabin. He’s probably wondering where I am.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. Corey, who the fuck was Corey? But he wasn’t going to ask, and apparently, Kennet wasn’t going to tell. Fucking hell! But all Connor said as he let Kennet go was: 

“Fine. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m staying in room 420. Give me a call.” 

He tried to sound casual about it, but it came out sounding more like an order. 

“I will, as soon as I wake up. Promise,” Kennet said, and then he was gone. 

Connor drove the car into the garage and he was not happy. He didn’t like the idea of Kennet sharing a cabin with another guy. What did that mean? Were they a couple, and Kennet had only used him as a distraction? He hadn’t gotten the feeling that Kennet was a guy who would cheat on his partner, or that Kennet had felt the slightest bit guilty while sucking Connor’s brains out through his cock. 

Then again, Kennet had kept him guessing all night long, and Connor hadn’t had much of a chance to really figure out what kind of a person Kennet was. Perhaps he did have a partner; perhaps cheating on his partner was something he did on a regular basis? Perhaps they had an open relationship that meant they could fuck around however much they wanted? Connor was used to thinking the worst of people, and why would Kennet Karlsson be any different? But there was a distinct sense of disappointment inside Connor as he heard the central lock close behind him when left the car. He’d thought that Kennet was different. He’d hoped that Kennet was different. 

Connor Kian didn’t sleep much that night, thoughts and fantasies of a dark haired man with the body of a Greek God keeping him awake.


	10. Unexpected

Scott and Pierce

Scott locked the door to the shop. It was after five and he was pretty beat. He really longed for the lesson at the Shu-ha-ri* Dojo. Being cooped up in a shop all day was sometimes dulling. Of course, the brain got its share from all the customers appearing inside the shop. They were always asking questions about the old knives and swords he kept on display, and also wanted to know where the designs he created came from and how he’d come up with the idea for that knife pr that particular sword. He certainly enjoyed it, and the store was popular enough for him to get by.

Knowing that people could see the beauty of the knives, and display them on the wall like an artwork, rather than what they were once created for gave him deep a sense of satisfaction. But when he closed up shop, when the day spent talking about his designs and weapons was over, his body needed exercise. If it hadn’t been for the Dojo, he’d probably be going slightly mad right now. Especially since it was the only physical release he’d had for a while … 

Pulling the key out of the lock, he turned around, shouldering his duffle bag, and walked purposefully toward the Dojo. It lay across the street, only a few blocks away. The Resort was growing, but the distances within it were still more than manageable on foot. The Dojo was his safe haven, the place where he could meditate or exercise, both at the same time. Martial arts were among his greatest interests. 

Tai Chi made him feel rested, and in control, whereas Tae Kwon Do and karate kept him in shape, agile and alert. He had a brown belt in karate, something he had managed long before he arrived at the Resort three years ago, but the Dojo was aimed toward Tae Kwon Do, so that was his main interest now. In fact, Scott was well on his way to achieving his second Dan degree. The only reason he could be so proficient in all three of these martial arts was that he’d been training karate religiously, ever since he was molested at seven years of age. He’d been motivated, so to speak. When he turned twenty, he started doing Tae Kwon Do instead. The Tai Chi was something he'd never studied exactly, except from books.

Half-way to the Dojo, Scott slowed his steps and turned toward the window of a newly opened bookstore. The Tome Tomb. That sounded ominous. He’d never been there before, because common books were generally not his thing. He preferred to do things rather than read about them, but in the window lay one of the books about Tae Kwon Do that he’d been meaning to read, so he stepped inside. He wasn’t due at the dojo for at least another half hour anyway. 

Scott stopped in the aisle where they had a whole section of books about martial arts and he spotted several volumes that he already owned. Interesting. It seemed that the owner of this store had some interest in the martial arts, or he wouldn’t have such an extensive collection. Curiosity getting the better of him, Scott lifted his head and surveyed the place. 

It was rather a large bookstore, with shelf upon shelf filled with books of a great variety. Novels, mostly mysteries, horror and crime stories, as far as Scott could tell at first glance. Then there was the Technical literature, with the martial arts section, and books about sailing, surfing, fishing and … heaps of other things that held no interest to Scott. He moved further into the store, curious to see if there was an owner or a clerk anywhere to be found. There were certainly enough customers. Several men stood in front of the novel section, and a pair of them was discussing some novel that had just been released. One of them was tall, with long, thinning hair, tied in a ponytail on his back. He was wearing a jeans and a sleeveless leather vest that showed off a multitude of tattoos on his pale arms. He was slightly overweight and wore a bushy moustache. The quintessential biker, Scott thought. His companion was much shorter, but equally adorned with tattoos. He on the other hand was bald, and had neither beard, nor moustache. He wore a gold earring in one of his ears. 

“It’s really good,” the taller of the men said. “I know the introductory text on the back is really stupid, but the story is much more intricate than you might think … “

Scott had to laugh. Neither of those guys looked like they were much of a reader, but obviously, as Scott had learned before, appearances could be deceiving. He didn’t hear what the shorter guy replied. Instead, Scott moved further into the store, seeing artistic material, and huge stocks of pens and pencils, as well as stationary. It looked just like any other bookstore. That was yet more proof that Hephaiston’s Resort was growing into its own self-contained city, and Scott could see why. The resort was truly beginning to boom with business. It had taken a while, and for a long time, the only things that had been at the Resort were the Pyramid Hotel, the surf gear rentals and a few restaurants and other things that people needed to relax and have a good time. But over the last year, other hotels had been built – such as the Tower, and the Venetia. 

Just like the Pyramid hotel, the Venetia was inspired by a hotel from Las Vegas. The Venetia was surrounded by a moat, and the only way to enter it was through the gondolas or the bridge that crossed the water. Storm Garner owned each square inch of land that housed the resort, but leased some of it to other people, like to the Gay Consortium, the owners of the Tower, and himself. Other things that had cropped up were of course the Dojo, for which Scott was eternally grateful, the hospital, and the clothes’ shops scattered here and there, and now this, the bookshop. Scott knew that Storm Garner was very particular about who owned anything at the Resort. They had to be gay, not just gay-friendly – and men. He wanted to keep the resort away from the judgmental views of the rest of the world. 

As Scott moved further into the Tome Tomb, he supposed that there was a market for books, considering the fact that reading was a favored past time while on vacation, even for sex-starved gays. He knew that perhaps he was being unfair, thinking like that, but he couldn’t help it. He’d grown tired of guys hitting on him at first glance, seeing the sexual hunger in their eyes, knowing that all they wanted was a quick roll in the hay, and then they would move on to the next target. Scott had lost count on how many Resort guests had hit on him, only to forget he existed when they left. That’s what had been happening to him an awful lot lately, and he was pretty damned tired of it. Despite that, he still truly enjoyed the resort and everything he needed was right here. His shop was doing well and he knew that Storm didn’t want him to leave. Especially not after Jonathan died. Scott swallowed. He still didn’t want to think about that. Storm hadn’t quite been the same since, and it wasn’t difficult to understand why…. 

Forcing away the depressing thoughts, Scott continued through the shop and finally spotted a man behind the counter. He didn’t look like he fit into the scene at all. Just like Scott’s own hair, this man’s mane was long, dark and straight. But it was cut in a ragged hairstyle and not tied back in a neat ponytail. He wasn’t good looking in the strictest sense, but something about him made Scott’s mouth dry. Something in the hands, maybe? They gripped the pages of some book lovingly. He had big hands. Strong hands, Scott decided, despite the gangly build of his body. Through his interest in the martial arts, Scott had learned not to judge another man too quickly. This man’s body might seem gangly, and therefore weak and perhaps awkward, but the alertness in his gaze told another story. And perhaps it was the alert gaze that made Scott’s stomach drop so violently. The man’s eyes met Scott’s gaze directly, unflinchingly. When the other man tilted his head to the side in curiosity, Scott nearly panicked. What was he doing here anyway? He was supposed to go to the dojo, not stand around in a bookshop, drooling. 

Drooling?

Yeah, Scott admitted it to himself, he was practically drooling. He couldn’t remember when that had happened the last time. And his palms were sweaty, moist enough to make him feel the handles of the duffle bag slide against his fingers. He really should go, to the Dojo. Now. 

“May I help you?”

Scott swallowed and lifted his gaze again. The other man had moved from behind the counter, and was now standing in front of him, a mere couple of feet away. His eyes were so dark brown they seemed almost black, his mouth full and kissable, the ears large, nose large and cheekbones high. He shouldn’t be handsome, not particularly, but then the voice … the voice was incredible. 

It was unpleasant feeling like a teenager again, and Scott didn’t like it one bit. He straightened his back and was about to say no, but then realized he’d actually stepped into this bookstore for a reason. He’d hate to make himself into such a fool he’d have to avoid the place from now on. 

“Yes, please,” he found himself answering instead. “I’m looking for a specific book about Tae Kwon Do and another about Martial Arts in general.” Scott just remembered another title he was interested in. He hadn’t seen it on the shelf, but perhaps this guy could point him to it? Might as well take advantage of the service… 

“I see. Follow me.” The other man smiled a crooked smile and turned to walk ahead of Scott toward the very shelves he had perused earlier. Scott took the opportunity to try to collect himself. This was ridiculous. 

But it wasn’t ridiculous, how this man moved. He was sleek like a jungle cat, and Scott knew that his earlier assessment had been right on the money. This guy was no weakling, and he had full control of every part of his body, and the truth was that there was nothing in this world that was more attractive to Scott. He swallowed again. Incredible how dry his mouth had become. He’d better make sure he drank some water before starting the Tai Chi lesson this evening or he might end up dehydrated. 

And that ass. Tightly wrapped in a pair of dark-blue denims, it was a sight to behold. 

“See anything you like?” the man said huskily as they approached the shelves. Scott wasn’t sure what he was referring to. Had the other man noticed how Scott was ogling him? Probably. Was he referring to that or the books? Scott had no idea. So he cleared his throat a little self-consciously and realized that he now resembled one of those sex-starved gays he’d mocked so ruthlessly only minutes earlier. He decided to assume that the clerk, or whoever he was, was referring to the books.

“Yeah, I was thinking about this one,” Scott said, surprised and grateful at how steady his voice sounded, and reached for the Tae Kwon Do book he’d been looking at earlier. “I teach classes at the dojo and last week a couple of guys in their fifties approached me, asking if it was possible for them to begin with martial arts even though they’d never tried it before. I thought this book might be of some help.”

“It’s a good one,” the other man acquiesced. “But I think you might be even more helped by this one,” he continued and proceeded to hand over another book for Scott. It was Martial Arts After 40 by Sam H. Kim. Scott had read other books by this author and thought they were good. He leafed through it. 

“Are there any openings in the dojo now, or is it still impossible to start new classes?” the other man asked as he waited for Scott’s decision.

“Why? Are you interested in attending a class?” Scott countered and looked up from the book. The other man was watching him intently. That gaze was so direct it made hairs at the back of Scott’s neck stand on end. 

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to book a time or two there for weeks now, but the classes always seem to be fully booked months in advance.”

“It depends on what level you’re trying at. We have two advanced classes only and that’s because there hasn’t been enough basis for another. Those are the only ones I know are fully booked continuously,” Scott said. The question made him even more curious about this guy. 

“Yes, well, that’s the one I’ve been trying to book,” the other man said. 

“I could probably get you into one of them. In fact I’m off to teach a Tai Chi class for advanced users tonight. It’s starting … “ Scott checked his watch. “… in forty-five minutes,. I should have been there to get ready for it by now, actually.”

“The shop is closing in half an hour. I’ll ask my partner to close up tonight if you have time to wait for me”, the other man said. “I’m Pierce Allen, by the way.” Pierce offered Scott his hand. Scott took it, and met the other man’s eyes again. His gaze was truly electric, intimate in a strange way. What had he gotten himself into, offering this guy a spot at the dojo? He was normally a whole lot more cautious than this. 

“Scott MacDowd,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott.” Pierce replied and squeezed his hand a little longer than what was really polite. The sensation of the strong, warm grip went straight to Scott’s groin and he swallowed again. It had been a while, but this was really ludicrous. 

“I’ll wait. I’ll buy these books while I’m at it.”

“Go to the cash register over there and buy the books from Trent. I’ll go talk to my partner, Victor, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Partner? Victor? 

Scott sighed. He had no wish to get in between partners, and he was not interested in threesomes. He’d better make that clear before Pierce Allen’s brown eyes made him forget all his morals and all his values. 

* Shu (to learn from tradition)   
Ha (to break chains of tradition)   
Ri (to transcend)


	11. Tempted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written entirely by Slasherfem and focuses on Lucien LaBarre and Quentin Rogue, plus Roger Wilkins.

Quentin, Lucien, and Roger  
By Slasherfem

 

Lucien and Quentin arrived at the Pyramid Hotel at midday, both rather disheveled from their long flight. Quentin was complaining loudly about the heat and the cramped bus they'd taken from the airport as he hauled his wheeled suitcase along behind him, his linen jacket draped over one shoulder. Lucien, whose only concession to the heat was to unbutton his white shirt to his breastbone, walked quietly beside him, carrying his suitcase in one hand. Unlike his spouse, he traveled light.

After they checked in, Quentin practically threw his suitcase at a bellhop and headed for the elevator. "Come on, Lucien!" he yelled over his shoulder. "I'm dying for a cold drink!"

"Coming." The artist insisted upon carrying his own suitcase, smiling apologetically at the bellhop who was struggling valiantly with Quentin's heavy baggage. The ride up in the elevator was rather awkward, to say the least. Quentin was still complaining about the heat and their beastly flight. When they got to their suite, he was still complaining. As soon as he saw the minibar, he headed straight toward it, leaving Lucien to tip the sweating bellhop. "Thank you very much," Lucien told him with his most charming smile.

"Thank you, sir. Just let me know if there's anything more I can do for you." The bellhop's emphasis on "you", as well as the way he rolled his eyes at Quentin, made it plain that he wasn't including Quentin in his offer.

As soon as the bellhop was gone, Lucien went up to Quentin and stood there with his arms folded, looking at him reproachfully. Quentin, who was polishing off a scotch on the rocks, lowered his glass and finally noticed the way that his spouse was looking at him. "What?" he said, a bit belligerently.

"Must you treat the staff as if they were furniture, _mon cher_?" Lucien rebuked him gently.

"They're here to serve us. They might as well earn their salary."

"Serving you entitles them to hazardous pay."

"Whereas serving you is a pleasure that they should pay for," Quentin told him, chucking him under his dimpled chin.

"I have yet to receive any monies from you in return for your service," Lucien retorted.

"My dear, if I were to start paying you for the servicing I give you, I'd be forever in your debt." Quentin raised his glass to him in a toast and drained it, throwing his dark head back to drain every drop.

Lucien threw his hands in the air and turned away. "I give up! You would think, after thirty years, that I would know better by now than to try to improve your manners."

"It was a gallant attempt, my love," Quentin assured him. "Like all of your previous attempts. But as usual, it failed." He threw fresh ice cubes into his glass and poured himself another drink. "Let's face it, you simply can't make a silk purse out of this sow's ear."

Sighing heavily, Lucien heaved his suitcase up on the bed and proceeded to unpack. After he had laid out a fresh outfit, shoes and underwear, he took his toiletry case and headed for the bathroom. Minutes later, Quentin heard the shower running.

A mischievous gleam came into Quentin's brown eyes. Laying aside his now empty glass, he ran over to the bed, heaved his own suitcase on it and picked out an outfit for himself. Unlike Lucien, he threw all the pieces haphazardly onto a nearby chair rather than laying them out neatly on the bed. Not wanting to disturb Lucien's carefully arranged clothes, he left them lying on Lucien's side of the bed--next to the window of the suite, the way he preferred it at home in their New York penthouse--and simply closed the artist's suitcase and put it in the nearest corner. Then he began to undress.

********

Lucien stood in the shower with the adjustable showerhead turned to "Massage", letting the warm spray run down his back, the water centered on the exact area between his shoulders where the most tension was. Ordinarily he'd let Quentin rub his aching back, especially after a long, tiring plane ride like the one they'd just had, but he was rather annoyed with Quentin right now. He knew it was silly to try to make Quentin over into a more considerate person after all these years, but you would think that his refining influence would have made some impression on him by now!

_*Really, the man can be such a bore sometimes! Why do I put up with him, his bad manners and his cavalier attitude, his lack of appreciation for the finer things--he still falls asleep at the opera and prefers mystery novels to Shakespeare--and the way he simply pours liquor down his throat, from the most expensive champagne to the most refined cognac, as if they were all Jack Daniels? And the way he simply shovels food into his mouth instead of taking time to savor it. Really, the only differences between Quentin and an ape is that he wears shoes, eats with a fork and remembers to chew with his mouth closed. Most of the time, anyway.*_

Lucien sighed and shifted his position so that the massaging spray fell on his left shoulder.

_*Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like with a different sort of person, someone more like myself who appreciates good food and wine, culture and courtesy, music, poetry and horseback riding. Poor Quentin can stick on a horse, but you can still see daylight between him and the saddle when he gallops. He'll never come riding to the rescue in any of my wildest romantic fantasies. No, he'll never be my knight in shining armor. Then again, he is quite good at doing the little things that make life more tolerable in the city, like hailing a cab in the rain and persuading the maître'd to find us a table despite our not having a reservation. Not to mention keeping visitors out while I'm painting and making sure that I stop to eat every now and then. Without him, I'd be even thinner than I am now.*_

Lucien ran his hands over his flat stomach and looked at his lean build with resignation.

_*Look at yourself, not an ounce of spare fat and no muscle to speak of, despite all the time you spend at the gym. That was Quentin's idea in the first place; I never cared for exercise except for when I'm riding. I should be grateful that he makes some effort to keep me healthy and well fed. When I'm painting, I forget to eat, exercise, or sleep. And as for sex--Well, at least I don't have to repress my desires anymore, the way I did when I was a struggling young artist.*_

He smiled to himself, remembering the sexual imagery that had dominated his paintings when he was younger and not yet "out". He shifted position again so that the massaging spray was falling on his right shoulder.

_*Yes, Quentin is a dear and I'm lucky to have him. He's the love of my life and adorable in his own rough way. I just wish he wasn't such a diamond in the rough. If only he'd make some effort to be civil to so-called inferiors, not to mention the rude way he treats any man who so much as glances in my direction.*_

His train of thought was derailed when he felt familiar hands rubbing soap on his back. His hazel eyes opened and he looked over his shoulder to see Quentin right behind him in the shower. "Good heavens, you startled me!" Lucien exclaimed.

"Sorry about that. I just thought I'd join you in the shower." Quentin paused to adjust the showerhead so that the massaging spray fell over them both. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, _mon cher_ , you know I enjoy your company anytime when I am not at work. But please don't turn this into another of your aquatic orgies. I am getting rather hungry and could use a bite to eat."

"I'll give you something to nibble on," Quentin told him playfully, nudging him from behind with what felt like the beginning of an immense erection.

"I was hoping for something more substantial," Lucien replied with dignity.

"Oh, this will fill you up, all right," Quentin teased him.

"I prefer filet mignon to tube steak," Lucien retorted.

"I'll have you know that this is USDA Prime Beef!"

"Oh, are you sure of that?" Lucien said innocently. "I thought you were just nudging me with your thumb."

Annoyed, Quentin grabbed him and pulled him up against him hard, rubbing his by now rampant erection against his lean buttocks. "Does this feel like my thumb?" he demanded.

"You mean that little nub rubbing against my _derriere_?" Lucien maintained his innocent tone of voice, knowing how it annoyed Quentin to have the size of his manly member criticized. "I'm afraid it will take more than that to impress me, _mon cher_."

"Oh, yeah? Here, I'll make an impression on you." Quentin pushed him up against the wall of the shower stall and held him there by the weight of his bigger body, while he filled his right hand with liquid soap from Lucien's bottle of body wash. This he slavered on his thick cock before he guided it into Lucien's body, penetrating the small, hot hole between his buttocks with infinite care and patience despite his annoyance with his long-time lover. He would never do anything to hurt Lucien, no matter how angry he got with him and his teasing.

Lucien gasped as he felt himself being penetrated, more surprised than hurt. This wasn't the first time Quentin had surprised him in the shower, so it wasn't completely unexpected. Still, he hadn't expected Quentin to respond to his teasing so soon. It usually took a good deal more baiting on his part to get him mad enough to "rape" him.

It must have been those two drinks he had before, Lucien thought as he assumed the position that he usually took during one of their "aquatic orgies", hands raised above his head and spread against the wall, abdomen pressed against the cool, slick tiles as well, feet spread and planted well apart on the wet floor. He kept his head turned to one side, so that with each firm stroke he felt his right cheek pressed against the wall, along with his chest, stomach and cock, now rapidly hardening.

Quentin pressed his advantage, subduing his talkative spouse and teaching him a well-earned lesson. Just because he had never raised a hand to Lucien in all the time they'd been together didn't mean he hesitated to punish him in other ways. He knew that Lucien enjoyed these rough romps as much as he did, so long as they didn't get too rough. It gave the pampered artist the illusion of rough sex without any actual danger. Ever since the first time they had quarreled over what Lucien called his "lack of couth", forcing an angry young Quentin to put him in his place the only way he knew how, this method of disciplining Lucien always served to remind him who was on top in their relationship. Most of the time, anyway; there were times when Quentin enjoyed being fucked as well. But not as often as he preferred to top Lucien. For him, taking charge in bed made up for not taking charge in other things, like paying rent and buying groceries. Oh, he had a small trust fund of his own, so he wasn't completely dependent on Lucien's largesse. But to everyone who knew them, he was only Lucien Le Barre's little plaything, his "kept man". Not that he gave a damn what anyone else thought, as long as they didn't say it to his face.

Lucien began to breathe heavily and moan as he felt his pleasure building up in him with every stroke of Quentin's cock. He liked it this way, hard and fast, with Quentin pinning him against the wall. The only thing better was lying on his back with his legs wrapped around Quentin's waist as his beloved spouse pounded into his willing body. He liked the feeling of helplessness that Quentin's aggressive lovemaking gave him. He was so used to taking charge of all the other aspects of their lives, from meals to taxes, that it was a welcome relief to let Quentin take charge in their bed. Or anyplace else he felt like screwing him. He started moaning in French as his cock head began spewing pre-cum on the cool, wet tile wall he was pressed against. He started to reach for his cock, to jerk himself off, but Quentin grabbed his right hand and forced it back over his head.

"No you don't! You know that's my job!" He reached around Lucien's waist and grabbed his cock, squeezed it hard, then worked it in his fist, squeezing and tugging repeatedly as he kept pounding into the sweet, hot ass. No way he was going to let Lucien get himself off, as long as he was still able to serve him. Even when they got too old to screw, he would still get him off with his mouth if he had to.

Between the screwing his ass was getting and the jerking his cock was getting, it didn't take much longer for Lucien to come. When he did, he cried out in helpless ecstasy as his hot, sticky white come gushed out of his captive cock, flowing over Quentin's fisted hand like a gusher. Feeling his spouse come in his hand made Quentin feel strong and in charge, confident that he could serve and protect him no matter what. All it took was a few more hard strokes into Lucien's ass before he came too, bellowing like a bull as he plunged deep into him.

They stayed propped up against the shower wall for some time after, while they got their breath back and enough strength in their knees not to collapse. When Quentin was finally able to withdraw, he did so slowly, reluctant to leave the tight, hot passage that gave him such pleasure. He continued to hold Lucien up for a little while longer, then gradually let go of him and reached for the body wash. He used it to wash himself off, then Lucien, letting the warm water rinse away every trace of their lovemaking. An exhausted Lucien turned around, put his back against the tiled wall and his arms around Quentin's neck, pulled him close and kissed him.

They kissed while the warm water ran over their spent bodies, cleansing them of sweat, semen, and every other foreign matter. They kissed as they recalled the first time they had ever made love and hoped that this would not be the last time. They kissed until the need for air drove them apart, as well as their empty stomachs. Then they finished cleaning up, got out of the shower and wrapped each other up in long, white towels, kissing again as they dried each other off.

They went into the bedroom and got dressed, Lucien in his impeccable white linen summer suit, Quentin in his olive slacks and red dress shirt.

"Where shall we go for dinner?" asked Quentin as he combed his hair, the dark curls generously sprinkled with gray.

"What about the hotel lounge?" asked Lucien as he knotted his black and gold tie. "I believe it's called Dionysus' Vineyard. I understand there is live music."

"As long as it's not chamber music. You know that puts me to sleep."

"No, _mon cher_ , it's jazz-fusion, by a rather talented Englishman we both know from New York." Lucien showed him the photo on the inside of the hotel directory.

"Reg White is here?" Quentin exclaimed, seeing the familiar face with its' round-lensed glasses and reddish-blond hair. "Well, well, and here I thought he would never come out! To the East Coast," he added playfully. "Come on, Lucien, I'm dying to go backstage and ask him what he's getting paid to slum with the Little People."

"Now, don't start getting bitchy, Quentin. The poor boy can't help it if his agent keeps booking him into straight venues. Come along now."

"After you, Alphonse," Quentin said playfully, waving him toward the door of their suite.

Lucien headed for the door, head held high, impeccably dressed and groomed, gracefully ignoring the rude hand on his butt as Quentin groped him when he passed.

********

Dionysus' Vineyard turned out to be one of those hokey theme restaurants, but it was a fun sort of hokeyness, one that didn't take the theme too seriously. The walls were covered with murals showing Dionysus, the God of Wine, enjoying his creation in the company of well-built, scantily clad youths and satyrs, but no nymphs. All the pillars had green plastic vines covered with plastic grapes twining round them, and every table was covered with a deep purple cloth, the color of wine. Of course there was an extensive wine list as well, to go with the hearty Mediterranean menu. The relaxed atmosphere reflected the mood of the patrons, who were all here to have fun. When Lucien and Quentin arrived, it was already wall-to-wall people, there to listen to the sensuous jazz fusion sound of Reg White and his ensemble.

"I see that Reginald has filled the house, as usual," Lucien commented as they stood in the doorway looking out over the room.

"The place is packed. I hope we can still get a table." Quentin, who already had an arm around Lucien's shoulders, pulled him closer as they entered the lounge. The place was so crowded, they had to wait at the bar for a table. Quentin ordered them drinks while Lucien looked around. As the artist was craning his neck at the crowd around the stage, trying to get a glimpse of the talented Englishman at the piano, a young man bumped into him on his way to the bar.

"Oops! I'm sorry!" The young man, who was tall and blond, grabbed Lucien by the arms as he looked down at him, smiling apologetically. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, thank you, I'm quite all right," Lucien assured him politely.

Charmed by his French accent and his distinguished looks, the young man tightened his hold on Lucien's arms ever so slightly as he said earnestly, "Listen, how would you like me to--"

"Get lost!" Quentin appeared behind Lucien with a drink in each hand, looking at the young man as if he intended to pour both glasses over his head.

Lucien's young admirer hastily excused himself, leaving the artist regarding his spouse in an irritated way. "Really, Quentin, was that necessary?"

"I'll say it was! I can't leave you alone for a minute without somebody trying to pick you up!"

"All he did was bump into me and apologize. He probably wanted to buy me a drink."

"Well, I bought you one already, so there's no need for you to be accepting the kindness of strangers." Quentin pressed a mimosa into his hand, put his arm around the smaller man's waist and pulled him to his side by the bar, where they remained until a table opened up. Fortunately the wait wasn't too long and the maître'd was able to get them a good table in the back, not too close to the band or to the kitchen.

As Quentin was ordering them another round of drinks, a red-haired young man with a long, slender build like a swimmer spotted Lucien, came over and stood behind his chair and said, "Hi! Do you want to dance?"

Lucien shook his head. "No, thank you," he said graciously.

"Ah, come on!" the redhead persisted, laying his hands on Lucien's shoulders as he leaned over to whisper in his ear, "There's a quiet spot on the terrace outside where we can still hear the music."

Before Lucien could excuse himself further, Quentin yelled at the redhead. "Take your hands off him!" The redhead jumped back as Quentin sprang out of his chair and leaned across the table threateningly, looking at the younger man with murder in his eyes. "Now get the hell out of here," he hissed, "before I put my foot up your ass!"

The redhead fled, leaving an embarrassed Lucien looking reproachfully at his overly protective spouse, who sat down again with a smirk of satisfaction. "Quentin, he was just asking me to dance. I already told him no."

"Well, he obviously didn't know what "no" meant. I was just reminding him." Quentin picked up the menu and flipped it open, got out his eyeglasses and put them on, and studied the menu without further comment. With a sigh of resignation, Lucien picked up his menu and began reading it too.

Quite a few people were witnesses to Quentin's display of jealousy. One of them was a dark-haired, bearded young man with piercing blue eyes, who sat quietly nursing his drink in a dark corner.

 _*I would have handled that much more graciously,*_ he thought. _*I don't know how Lucien puts up with him. Well, with any luck, he won't have to much longer.*_

He smiled to himself in a predatory way as he studied the famous artist sitting at the table with his uncouth lover, admiring the slim figure in the white summer suit, imagining himself dancing with him in the moonlight out on the terrace.

Dinner was a silent affair between Lucien and Quentin. The younger man was more attentive to Lucien as a way of making up to him for his earlier outburst, touching his hand as he smiled into his amber eyes, playing footsie with him under the tablecloth, feeding him cherry tomatoes from his own salad, even cutting his lamb chops for him. Lucien appreciated the attention, but he couldn't help wishing that Quentin wouldn't make such scenes in public. He knew that this affectionate display was fueled by guilt, and wished for the umpteenth time in his life with Quentin that he had a much more refined companion, who wasn't so possessive or so quick to lose his temper.

By the time they got to dessert, Reg White was winding up his set. Quentin urged Lucien to finish his cheesecake so that they could be among the first ones backstage to greet Reg. "I'm going to the bathroom," Quentin added, pushing aside his empty pastry plate, which had once held a generous slice of baklava. "Do you want coffee?"

"No, I am going to finish my dessert and drink while I wait for you, Quentin. Do try not to pick any fights in the restroom, _mon cher_."

"Only if I see one of the assholes who tried to hit on you in there." Quentin rose and headed for the restroom, giving Lucien's shoulder a brief, affectionate squeeze as he passed.

Lucien finished his dessert and sat sipping his third mimosa of the evening while Reg White played a long instrumental piece entitled "Closing Time". He had already removed his suit jacket earlier and sat in his shirtsleeves, the gold cufflinks at his wrists gleaming brightly in the low lighting as he lifted his glass to his lips. He set his glass down on the table and leaned his cheek upon his left hand as he sat listening to the music.

The dark-haired man in the corner got up and walked casually toward Lucien's table, as if he were going to the bathroom too. But as he passed the table, he accidentally on purpose brushed one of his big hands against Lucien's glass. The drink fell over, spilling its contents on the wine-colored tablecloth. Lucien looked away from the stage to his spilled drink, an annoyed frown on his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Did I get any on you?" The man who had spilled his drink stopped to apologize. "Please forgive my carelessness. I'm not usually so clumsy."

Lucien looked up, prepared to say a few choice words about clumsy dolts who spilled one's drink. The words died on his lips as he saw the handsome young man who was looking at him so earnestly, with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had heard about tall, dark and handsome men all his life, but this was the first time he had ever actually seen one. This one had a short, dark beard as well, which served to accentuate the whiteness of his smile. He wore a white mock turtleneck and a navy blue blazer that looked tailored to fit his athletic form. So did his navy slacks, with a gold belt buckle adorning the black belt around his slim waist, which contained the initials "R.W.". Suddenly a look of recognition came across his handsome face. "Say, aren't you Lucien Le Barre, the artist?"

Lucien nodded and managed to say, "Yes, I am," despite his growing difficulty in catching his breath.

"It's an honor to meet you, _Monsieur_ Le Barre. My name is Roger Wilkins. I'm a great admirer of your work." Roger held out his hand to Lucien, who clasped it automatically. Roger's big hand promptly closed over Lucien's smaller one, gripping it with gentle strength. The blue eyes looking down at him in the dim light told him wordlessly that he was, indeed, an admirer of Lucien's, though not necessarily of his painting.

Lucien didn't flatter himself. He knew very well that handsome young men like this weren't attracted to him for his looks or his charming personality. It was his fame, of course, his reputation as an artist to the Jet Set, as well as the money it earned him. Even young men who didn't know he was a famous artist were bound to be attracted by his prosperous looks. Roger confirmed this when he offered to buy Lucien another drink, then promptly sat down beside him and proceeded to tell him about his art gallery in Aspen. It seemed there was a great demand for his paintings in Aspen and he would be honored if Monsieur Le Barre would consider having his next exhibit at the Wilkins Gallery.

By the time Lucien's fresh drink arrived, Roger was dropping famous names, celebrities and socialites who were his regular customers, as well as the artists who had displayed their work at his gallery. Most of them were known to Lucien; a couple of the artists were even friends of his. He mentioned this to Roger, who encouraged him to talk about artists and art, asking him who had influenced him the most in his work. Lucien named Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dali as his strongest influences and was treated to a series of anecdotes about the late, great Picasso and his wife Paloma. Lucien was as impressed by the company Roger kept as he was by Roger himself; he was obviously a man of wealth and taste. Remembering his earlier longing for someone of similar tastes to share his life with, he wondered if Roger could be the answer to his prayers.

 _*If only I had met him thirty years earlier!*_ Lucien sighed inwardly as Roger segued from art to music, mentioning Reg White and some of his fellow musicians who frequented the famous ski slopes of his hometown. _*Of course he probably wasn't born yet,*_ he reminded himself, seeing no trace of gray in Roger's black hair and beard. _*If it weren't for Quentin, I would gladly spend the rest of the night with this man, in bed or out. I'm sure that he would never embarrass me in public with jealous scenes, nor treat the hired help like slaves.*_

Lucien drifted off into a pleasant fantasy about life with Roger, as the young man continued to charm him with his words.

Roger, for his part, was intent on impressing Lucien with his cultural charms rather than his physical ones. Both were considerable; he was well educated, a natural born athlete, as well as a skilled appraiser of art. He was also a shameless opportunist who didn't hesitate to mix business with pleasure. Two of his former lovers had been older men, well-known artists whose works had adorned the walls of his gallery more often after he had slept with them. But they were both on their way down, while Lucien was still at the height of his fame. He wasn't bad-looking either, with his patrician features and his regal bearing. Judging from the rapt attention he was paying to Roger's conversation, he was sure that he had made a favorable impression.

 _*The fish has smelled the bait,*_ Roger thought cynically, _*now he's circling around waiting for a chance to bite. When he does, all I have to do is reel him in.*_

So Roger concentrated on seducing Lucien without laying a hand on him. It was easy to do, once you knew how. Just sit close enough to intrigue him, without invading his personal space enough to make him feel threatened. No touching, except for the single handshake they had exchanged, and Roger had made sure he kept eye contact with him throughout. As they talked, he was careful to slant the conversation toward subjects that he knew were near and dear to the artist, keeping up the eye contact while using silent body language to give the impression that he was fascinated by him. Which he was; he had always preferred older men. They were so much more experienced in bed, as well as generous with their money and extremely grateful to any charming young man who didn't make them look foolish.

Quentin returned from the restroom just as Roger was leaning close to Lucien to hear the artist's opinion about Salvador Dali's appearance in the Alfred Hitchcock movie "Spellbound". Seeing another man sitting so close to his spouse in public aroused all of Quentin's possessive instincts; seeing how well Lucien seemed to be getting on with the other man made him furious.

"Who the hell are you?" Quentin demanded of the stranger.

Both men looked up at him like deer caught in the headlights. "Oh, Quentin! You're back, _mon cher_ ," said Lucien, smiling nervously as he tried to avert the jealous scene that he knew was coming. "This is Roger Wilkins, who owns an art gallery in Aspen. We were just discussing business."

"Business?" Quentin managed to convey a world of suspicion in that one word as he looked from Lucien to Roger, noting all the salient details. Roger was sitting right next to Lucien (but not in Quentin's seat, fortunately for him!), leaning close to him but not touching him. If he had seen him touching him, he would have made him pay for it. The interloper seemed like he was only having an innocent conversation with him, but who knew what they had been saying just as Quentin was walking up to them? And why didn't he look nervous or scared, the way men usually did when he caught them trying to hit on his spouse?

Roger remained in his seat when he saw Quentin, knowing it would only make him look scared if he jumped up at the sight of Lucien's lover. The man was so common, he thought all he had to do was yell at his rivals to scare them away. Well, he didn't scare so easily. He leaned back in his chair, which he had taken from another table, and smiled amiably at Quentin, letting him see he was no threat to his relationship. Not yet, anyway.

"Good evening, Mr. Rogue," he said smoothly. "I understand that you handle some of the business aspects for _Monsieur_ Le Barre? I hope you can persuade him to do a showing of his works at my gallery in the near future. Here's my card." He produced a business card, which he handed to Quentin with the natural ease of a man who had nothing to hide.

Quentin accepted the card, still looking at him suspiciously. "Yes, I'm sure that we can come to some arrangement about Lucien's paintings," he said, still eyeing Roger suspiciously. "But in the future, Mr. Wilkins, I would appreciate it if you did not discuss business with Lucien without me being present." He forced himself to smile as he explained. "The poor man is so unworldly, so trusting, you see, I'm always afraid that some unscrupulous person might try to take advantage of him."

Roger glanced at Lucien, who certainly did not give the impression of unworldliness as he sat glaring at his possessive lover. Roger decided he'd better quit while he was ahead and rose from his seat, gratified to see that he was just a little bit taller than Quentin. "All right, then, _Monsieur_ Le Barre, I believe I've taken up enough of your time. I do hope you'll consider my offer. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir."

"Likewise, _Monsieur_ Wilkins." Lucien smiled up at him, ignoring Quentin's glare. "I am looking forward to us doing business together too."

" _Au revoir_ , then." Roger smiled at him once more before he took his leave, remembering to say good night to Quentin in passing. He could feel Lucien's eyes on him as he walked away, careful not to look back until he got to the door of the lounge. Then he took just one quick look back at Lucien, letting him see on his face how reluctant he was to go. Quentin was also looking at him, so he didn't wink. He just walked away, chuckling to himself as he planned his next encounter with the artist.

Quentin sat down heavily and glared at Lucien. "Must you encourage these fools who hope to use you for their own gain?"

"I know very well that he wouldn't have been so attentive if I were not an artist of some repute," Lucien said wearily. "No doubt he is already mentally writing the invitations to my showing at his gallery, and planning which of his celebrity friends to invite. I hope you will not force me to disappoint him. I understand that Aspen is very pleasant during the ski season."

"Which is still some time away. Now are you ready to go backstage and see Reg?"

"Not tonight, Quentin, please! The last thing I want to do is hang about with Reg and that crowd of Neanderthals who back him up. If we should meet him without the band, I promise you we will spend some time with him. Right now, I wish to spend some time with you."

"Oh, well in that case..." Quentin was restored to cheerfulness at the prospect of spending some time alone with his lover to make up for the time that bearded interloper had stolen from him. So they called for the bill, Quentin paid it, and left the lounge for a walk on the beach at Lucien's suggestion.


	12. The Dark Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Slasherfem entirely. Focuses on Quentin, Lucien and Roger.

"The Dark Horse"  
by Slasherfem

Quentin, Lucien and Roger

Quentin awoke at his usual time next morning, which was 8:00 a.m., to find his spouse, who was an early riser, eating breakfast on the terrace of their hotel room. Yawning his way through “Good Morning” as he shuffled by in the nude, which earned him a salute from Lucien’s upraised coffee cup, he stumbled into the bathroom to perform his morning ablutions. Afterwards, he joined Lucien on the terrace wearing his blue silk bathrobe. He saw that Lucien was dressed for riding in brown boots, beige jodhpurs and yellow polo shirt and let out a groan.

“Oh, no! Don’t tell me we’re going riding today!”

“There is no reason for you to ride with me, _mon cher_. I know you don’t enjoy it.” Lucien poured himself another cup of coffee from the room service cart parked by the small, round, glass-topped table at which he sat. “I understand they have a very nice tennis court here too. Why don’t you go there after breakfast and see if you can find someone to play with?”

“Whither thou goest, my love,” Quentin declared as he sat down across from him. “Just because I don’t enjoy riding as much as you do doesn’t mean I should deprive myself of your company for an hour. Or however long it’s going to take you to ride some four-legged bag of oats around the resort.” Lucien laughed as Quentin helped himself to coffee, which he took a generous sip of before uncovering the plate of Belgian waffles Lucien had ordered while he slept. They were topped with strawberries and sprinkled generously with powdered sugar, which was just the way he liked them.

Lucien, who had already finished his waffles, sat sipping his coffee and staring at the magnificent view of the sea which was visible from their terrace, so he wouldn’t have to look at Quentin wolfing down his waffles. It was their usual morning routine, except that at home he would be staring out the picture window in their dining room at the East River. He used to think that Quentin’s eating habits were cute. That was twenty-nine years and forty pounds ago. Nowadays he was more interested in planning his day over his second cup of coffee than making small talk with his spouse. Fortunately Quentin had become accustomed to this habit of his and was smart enough to leave him alone while he stuffed his own face.

 _*It’s a good thing he can’t read my mind*,_ Lucien thought as he stared at the rippling blue waves in the distance. He had been thinking about Roger a lot, ever since they met last night. Even while he and Quentin were walking on the beach last night, he had been thinking of Roger. When they returned to their hotel room and made passionate love, Lucien had thought of Roger and imagined what it would be like to lie under him. It had added a bit of spice to their lovemaking, imagining Roger was the one sucking his nipples and working his way down to his cock, sucking him off until he was dry and limp, then screwing him into the mattress.

Lucien came out of his fantasy to find that his coffee had grown cold and his cock had grown hard. This was embarrassing; if Quentin saw it, he would insist upon taking care of it before they left the room, and Lucien couldn’t bear any delay this morning that might keep him from running into Roger again. He had a feeling that he’d be seeing him again soon, and he was eager to get to know him better, preferably without Quentin around.

Fortunately Quentin, who had finished his waffles, was now eating a side order of scrambled eggs, home fries and sausage with toast and jam, so Lucien was able to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee and stroll over to the farthest end of the terrace, where he could stand with his back to Quentin, breathing in the salty sea air until his erection had subsided.

Quentin wasn’t completely preoccupied with eating. Every now and then he looked up at his spouse as he stood at the waist-high wall, admiring his small, tight ass. Remembering their lovemaking last night was making him horny too. He wondered what his chances were of talking Lucien out of riding today and going back to bed for a while.

 _*Less than zero,*_  the Voice of Experience warned him. * _You know how much he loves riding. Even if you succeeded in taking him back to bed, he’s going to be so resentful of you for denying him his pleasure that he’ll be too upset to enjoy the sex. Be a good sport and go riding with him this morning. After all, he’s accompanied you to enough football games, which he finds boring. Compared to the European version, that is. Why do Europeans refer to soccer as football, anyway?*_  Quentin gave a mental shrug as he polished off his food, then poured himself some orange juice to wash it all down.

When he had finished his morning repast, he dressed himself. Not being as dedicated a horseman as Lucien, he settled for khaki slacks and a red short-sleeved shirt, wishing it was cool enough to wear corduroy slacks, which would have provided some padding between him and the horse. Sitting on a horse for any amount of time always gave him a sore butt. He didn’t understand how Lucian could spend so much time on horseback without getting a sore butt too. _*I suppose he’s built up an immunity over the years ,*_   Quentin thought as he struggled to pull his western boots on.  _*All that galloping must have toughened his ass to the point where he doesn’t even feel discomfort anymore. No wonder his ass is still so tight after all these years!*_   He looked forward to getting a piece of that delectable ass afterwards, provided he wasn’t too sore after his own time in the saddle.

After asking for directions at the front desk, Lucien and Quentin headed for the resort’s riding stable. Before they were out the door, the blond desk clerk had picked up the phone and dialed Roger’s cell phone number.

“Mr. Wilkins? This is Adrian at the front desk. The gentleman you were asking about has just left the hotel, with his partner. They’re heading for the riding stable.”

“Thank you, Adrian,” Roger replied from his seat at Neptune’s Café just around the corner. “I’ll show you some more of my gratitude next time you tell me when he leaves the hotel.” He shut his cell phone with a snap and smiled triumphantly.  _*Best fifty dollars I ever spent,*_ he thought. All it had taken was a slip of paper with his cell phone number written on it folded around a fifty-dollar bill, and a polite request to be informed if and when Lucien Le Barre left the hotel, with or without his lover. Even well paid hotel employees were not above earning a little extra money on the side. He finished his coffee and rose, abandoning the remains of his breakfast, which he had already paid for. He had taken a leisurely tour around the hotel grounds upon his arrival forty-eight hours ago, and had found a shortcut to the stable via the beach path. All he had to do was get there ahead of Lucien and Quentin to make sure that Lucien would end up being separated from his lover long enough for him to run into Roger again.

 _*I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see me again,*_ Roger thought as he left the al fresco café, his long legs taking him rapidly toward the beach path. He looked good enough to eat in his black jeans and western boots and blue western shirt, embroidered with flowering cacti and a blazing sunset. He looked so good, in fact, that a couple of men who were jogging by looked back over their shoulders at him as they ran past, only to run straight into a group of bathers heading for the beach. Both groups ended up lying on the ground yelling at each other while Roger, completely oblivious to the commotion he had caused, just kept on going.

* * *

Stevie Palmer, the stable boy at the Pyramid Hotel Riding Stable, was whistling to himself as he groomed one of the horses. This particular horse, a showy Palomino, had been reserved by none other than Reg White himself, who intended to spend a couple of hours in the saddle after brunch to unwind from last night’s show. Stevie, who was twenty-two but looked younger on account of his wide blue eyes and boyish face, framed by short, brown hair, had already brushed the horse’s golden-brown coat to a glossy shine and was now brushing out his beautiful blond mane.

“Hold still, Jason!” Stevie told the horse, who was moving around restlessly under his hands. “You want to look good for Mr. White the singer, don’t you?”

Jason gave an annoyed whinny, as if to say he didn’t care how he looked for Mr. White or anyone else, he just wanted Stevie to stop pulling at the tangles in his mane.

“I know it hurts. That’s what you get for running against the wind before your hair has been washed and conditioned.”

Jason snorted and gave him the hairy eyeball, obviously blaming him for neglecting his grooming to the point where he was able to get tangles in his glorious mane.

Stevie laughed. “Don’t give me no dirty looks, you overgrown merry-go-round horse! I know how conceited you are. Remember, you have to look good when you’re carrying a celebrity around, who’s sure to have a personal photographer snapping him from every angle. And if you don’t look good in those pictures, you’ll spend the rest of the day sulking in your stall.”

Jason tossed his head and snorted again, clearly telling Stevie to get on with it so he could meet his adoring public.

A polite cough got Stevie’s attention. He looked up to see a tall, dark and handsome man in black jeans and blue western shirt standing outside Jason’s stall.

“Oh, good morning, sir! How may I help you?” Stevie asked.

“I need a horse,” Roger told him. “Not for myself, but for a friend. Well, a friend of a friend, actually.” He described Quentin Rogue and Lucien Le Barre carefully to the stable boy, emphasizing the fact that Quentin was not a very good rider. “That’s why I want to make sure he gets a horse that won’t give him a hard time. Do you have any animals in this stable that have a placid temperament? I mean, one who’s slow and steady, doesn’t jostle his riders and isn’t easily spooked?”

Stevie, who had come out of the Palomino’s stall while Roger was speaking, scratched his head thoughtfully, looking like a high school kid at his after school job in his worn blue jeans and short-sleeved, cream-colored tee shirt, which had a picture of a big, red horse with a small saddle on its’ back with a thought bubble that said, “This saddle makes my butt look big.”

“I think I know what you’re trying to say, sir,” Stevie said slowly. “:You want a horse who’s really laid-back, who’s strong enough to carry you for miles, and won’t shy at a scrap of paper blown by the wind.” His blue eyes brightened and he smiled ingeniously up at Roger, shorter than him by at least a foot and a half. “I’ve got just the horse for you!” He led Roger to the rear of the stable, waved his hand at the last stall on the left and said, “Taa-daa! Meet the slowest horse in the state of California--Meatloaf!”

A huge animal the same color as a well-done meatloaf looked up from his manger and regarded Roger calmly out of lazy brown eyes. He was so big, he looked like an equine version of a sumo wrestler; with a broad back and rounded sides shaped like a barrel, and legs as thick as redwood saplings. He looked strong enough to carry Henry the Eighth into battle, but not fast enough to help him break lances at a tournament.

“Whoa!” Roger said with a laugh. “Looks like old Meatloaf has some Clydesdale blood in him!” He bent low to look at the horse’s big feet, the size of soup bowls. “All he needs are feathers around his ankles.” He was referring to the long hairs which adorn the hooves of all Clydesdale horses, originally bred as draft horses, big and strong enough to pull a wagon or a plow all day.

“I’ll admit he’s no Seabiscuit,” said Stevie, scratching Meatloaf fondly between the ears. “You’ll never win any races with him, but he will get you where you want to go. Provided you’re not in a hurry to get there. I give him to all the nervous first-time riders, the ones who have never sat on anything but a merry-go-round horse before. He’s patient, calm, easy-going, and has such an easy gait you’ll never be jostled. In fact, you could say he’s an armchair ride.”

Roger laughed again. “That’s exactly what Quentin needs, an armchair ride! Now, can you assure me that when Quentin Rogue gets here, you’ll see that he gets this horse?”

“Well, I don’t know, sir, he may decide he likes another horse better. I mean, it’s not for me to tell a guest which horse to ride--”

“Of course it is. You’re the expert here, aren’t you? You work with horses all day, you can recommend one to an inexperienced rider who really doesn’t like to ride, can’t you?” As he talked, Roger casually slipped a fifty-dollar bill out of his jeans pocket and unfolded it so Stevie could see it, smiling and nodding meaningfully at him. “I know you can convince my friend to take this horse, if you really put your mind to it.”

“Wel-l-l-l-l…” Stevie looked at the fifty-dollar bill the handsome man was offering him. He had been offered more in the past by lecherous guests trying to get into his pants, but had politely declined. He had a boyfriend in San Francisco that he was looking forward to seeing when he went back to college in the fall. Fifty dollars could buy them a nice dinner together at their favorite bistro. After all, it wasn’t as if the handsome man was asking him to do something illegal. He just wanted to make sure his inexperienced friend got a nice, comfy ride on a friendly horse. Meatloaf really needed the exercise, anyway. He was spending way too much time out in the paddock, chewing grass and sunning himself, getting fat as a pet pony. “All right, sir, I’ll make sure and recommend Meatloaf to your friend when he gets here.”

Roger, who had already refolded the fifty-dollar bill into a small, rectangular shape the size of a folded tissue, said, “Thank you so much. This really means a lot to me.” He held out his hand with the bill folded neatly into it.

Stevie grinned and held out his hand and they shook on it. The fifty changed hands discreetly and Roger gave him a thrill by smiling at him in a way that made Stevie forget his boyfriend back home for a moment. But only for a moment!

Roger let go of the boy’s hand and looked around the stable. “Now, I’d like your recommendation on a good horse for me to ride.”

Stevie said, “Oh, you’ll want Hector, for sure!” and led him to a stall which contained a beautiful black stallion . “He’s high-spirited, loves to run and won’t hesitate to jump over any obstacle. In fact, he loves jumping so much you’ll have to hold him back, ‘cause he has a tendency to leap before he looks. I guess you could say he likes to live dangerously.”:

“Sounds like my kind of horse.“ Roger thanked him, took the horse, saddled up and was soon on the riding path leading toward the sea. There was plenty of tall field grass for him to hide in and wait for his prey to come along. As soon as Lucien rode past, he’d make his move.

* * *

Shortly after ten o’ clock that warm spring day, two men were seen riding out of the Pyramid Hotel’s riding stable. One was an older gentleman in proper horseman’s clothing, riding expertly on a pretty dapple-gray, a lively little mare named Dizzy Miss Lizzy with long, elegant legs, eager for a gallop. The other was a slightly younger man in khakis, mounted awkwardly on a big, brown horse named Meatloaf. True to the stable boy’s description, he moved like an armchair with legs, plodding along at a slow and steady pace, setting his big hooves down with a solid “clop” with each step.

Despite his mount’s lethargic pace, Quentin was still feeling nervous. Just being on top of a horse, so far from the ground, was enough to make him nervous. “Easy, boy! Easy!” he told Meatloaf, clutching the reins with one hand and a handful of Meatloaf’s thick mane with the other hand. “Slow down, will you?”

“If he were any slower, _mon cher_ , he would be standing still,” Lucien commented, looking with great amusement at his ordinarily intrepid spouse, reduced to a frightened little boy by a slow, lumbering horse. “Just relax and follow me.” He reined in Lizzy , who snorted disgustedly at having to match her vigorous pace to Meatloaf’s more languid one. But she slowed down obediently, though her twitching neck muscles and high-stepping gait told Lucien that she longed to be running.

“Yes, yes, _mon petit_ , I know you long to run,” Lucien crooned to the horse as he stroked her long neck. “And so you shall. As soon as we get a bit further down the riding path, _ne c'est pas?”_  He looked back at Quentin, who was still holding on to his horse’s mane as if he expected the placid Meatloaf to bolt and run away with him at any moment. “My horse is restless, Quentin. I’m going to let her trot a bit, to work out her fidgets. Catch up to us when you can, will you?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll catch up to you as soon as I can,” Quentin said, looking as if he wanted to wrap both arms around Meatloaf’s neck to keep from falling off his back.

Turning away to hide his smile, Lucien clicked to Lizzy and loosened the reins a bit. She obliged him by breaking into a high-stepping trot, whinnying with eagerness to finally be moving.

Way ahead of them, just around the bend in the riding path, a black stallion pawed the ground restlessly and rumbled deep in his throat, his nostrils twitching at the smell of an approaching mare. “Easy, Hector,” Roger said beside him, petting the horse as he kept his piercing blue eyes on the path before them. They were hidden by a wall of tall meadow grass that looked like pale wheat stalks waving in the spring breeze. The smell of blooming flowers filled the air, and bright spots of color could be seen on either side of the path, which was wide enough for four horses to walk abreast. But from the way that Quentin was plodding along on old Meatloaf, he doubted that he and Lucien would be riding abreast by the time Lucien reached this point. Lucien was riding on a dapple-gray mare, both of them looking eager to run.

 _*Closer,*_ Roger thought.  _*Come closer, my love. Yes, you will be my love before very much longer. You and I will both be leaving Quentin in the dust, in more ways than one.*_

As Lucien rode further and further away from him, Quentin became more afraid of being left behind than of falling off, and he decided to make Meatloaf go faster. “Okay, Meatloat, let’s go! Giddy-yup! Come on, now!”  He loosened his death grip on the horse’s mane and flapped the reins against that thick neck. But Meatloaf made no attempt to speed up. He just kept plodding on, eyes half closed, nostrils wide open as he enjoyed all the smells of flowers, grass, and trees, with the smell of the nearby sea overlaying all these delicious seasonal aromas.

“Will you move!” Quentin snapped. “For heaven’s sake, you’re as slow as molasses! I’ve seen Shetland Ponies that were faster than you! Hell, I once rode a mule at the Grand Canyon that was faster than you!”

Impervious to these insults, Meatloaf just kept moving on at his own lethargic pace. Even when Quentin jabbed his knees into his sides, he just grunted and rolled one eye at him, as if to say: Relax, you’ll get there, what are you in such a hurry for anyway?

“Come on, already!” Quentin said impatiently. “I know I said I wanted a mellow horse, but this is ridiculous! Have they been giving you pot with your feed? What does that stableboy put in your feedbag, Panama Red? That may explain why you’re so fat! I’ll bet you get the munchies every night and sneak out of the stable to raid the kitchen for Hostess Twinkies and Ring-Dings!”

Meatloaf didn’t speed up one iota, but he did let out an annoyed rumble deep in his throat, warning his testy rider not to make him mad if he didn’t want this ride to last even longer than he’d planned. As if to emphasize who was really in charge here, he stopped to nibble at a succulent patch of greenery by the side of the road.

“Don’t stop to eat now! We’re losing them, go faster!” Quentin urged him, seeing Lucien and Lizzy becoming smaller and smaller in the distance. Meatloaf chewed his mouthful of greenery with obvious enjoyment, his whole attitude one of “Don’t worry, be happy”. He certainly gave the impression of a horse who was high on life, if not on controlled substances.

“Will you move!” Quentin threw all caution to the wind as he sat up in the saddle and jabbed his heels into the horse’s sides as hard as he could. All Meatloaf did was break into a pretense of a trot for a few seconds, before resuming his usual slow, steady pace. He looked over his broad shoulder at Quentin and bared his big, yellow teeth at him in a horse laugh, as if to say: You really didn’t think that was going to make me move any faster, did you?  That horse had a very low opinion of Quentin.

Meanwhile, Lizzy’s quick trot had finally brought her to the bend in the road. Stretching out her long neck to catch the sea smell on the wind, she whinnied imploringly to Lucien to let her run. He could feel her eagerness rising up through her dappled skin, right through the saddle he was perched on, infecting him with the same need for speed.

“Very well, _mon petit_ , I think I have held you back long enough.” He gave Lizzie her head and she broke into a gallop, carrying him past the bend, past the wall of tall, pale meadow grass, where neither of them saw the dark horse and his rider lurking, on down a long stretch of road with a beautiful view of the sea in the distance over the tall evergreen hedges. Lucien felt exhilarated by the run, taking as much pleasure in it as the horse did, urging her on with subtle moves of his body and pulls on the reins, letting her know it was all right to run as fast as she could.

The moment Lucien passed his hiding place, Roger counted to ten slowly, then led his own horse out of hiding and mounted him. “All right, Hector, go!” he urged him.

Hector didn’t need to be told twice. He took off like a speeding bullet, eager to catch up with the pretty mare he’d had his eye on since the first time they led her into the stable. She wasn’t in season yet, but he wanted her to remember him when her time came. The springtime smells in the air made a young stallion’s fancy lightly turn to thoughts of love, and from the whiff of male pheromones he was getting from his rider, it was having the same effect on the human. Hector wondered what his rider intended to do for relief, since the mare’s rider was also male.

The sight of the sea on Lucien’s right gradually fell behind and gave way to a wall of trees, tall chestnuts with green leaves and spiky, green nuts still ripening on their branches. To the left was a meadow running wild with every sort of wildflower and scattered fruit trees, as well as a small river running toward the sea in its own meandering way. Now and then one could see glimpses of small animal life running through the meadow and among the trees; squirrels, rabbits, raccoons foxes, even deer. Fortunately none of them decided to cross the riding path that day. Lucien had been warned by Stevie that Lizzy was a good runner, but extremely skittish about anything smaller than a man that crossed her path.

As they galloped along the path leading toward the next bend, where the river thinned out into a stream and ran under a bridge in its path toward the sea, Lucien heard the sound of hoof beats behind him. He thought that it was Quentin, finally catching up to him, and wondered how he had managed to get that slug he was riding to break into a gallop. He thought of slowing down to let him catch up, then decided not to.  _*After all, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent ride on a really fast horse,*_ he thought rebelliously.  _*I don’t see why I should cut my pleasure short to accommodate Quentin’s bad riding.*_

So he kept up the brisk pace until the other rider had caught up to him. Roger admired his form on the horse before calling to him. “ _Monsieur_ Le Barre!”

Lucien looked to his left and saw Roger Wilkins on a magnificent black stallion galloping beside him. “ _Monsieur_ Wilkins! What a pleasant surprise!” he exclaimed.

“Same here! What do you say we try to jump these beauties across the water? I think it thins out just ahead. It should be narrow enough for a horse to jump.”

“Yes, I should like to see how this _jolle fille_ jumps.” Lucien urged his horse on. She obliged him with an extra burst of speed that put her briefly ahead of Hector, but the stallion, determined not to be left behind, matched her speed and was soon neck and neck with her again.

They approached the stream, which was right across the path and wasn’t very wide or deep at this point; just enough to justify the sturdy wooden bridge across it for the more timid souls who preferred not to risk falling into the swiftly running water by jumping their horses across. But Lucien was not timid, by any means. He urged Lizzy on toward the stream, bracing himself for the jump. Lizzie gathered herself and leaped across the stream, landing on all four hooves as lightly as a little girl playing hopscotch.

Hector was right behind her, landing on all fours and cavorting triumphantly, exhilarant with his own prowess. “Easy, Hector! Settle down, boy.” Roger got control of the big, black horse before he could rear up to neigh at the mare. Balked of his chance to show off in front of the pretty dapple-gray, Hector snorted in disgust, prancing around restlessly before he finally settled down.

Lizzy, who had galloped ahead a little ways, now turned around and trotted back to the black horse, wickering like a lady giggling over her beau’s attempt to impress her. Lucien was kinder, praising both horse and rider for their prowess at jumping.

“You made that jump quite well, _Monsieur_ Wilkins. No doubt you have had much practice.”

“So have you.” Roger trotted up till the horses were nose to nose. While Hector and Lizzy were getting to know each other, he and Lucien discussed horses and riding. Before too long, they had both dismounted and were walking their horses to cool them as they continued their conversation. The sun was now high overhead and Quentin was far behind them, so Roger had no fear of him suddenly appearing to break up their tête-à-tête.

As for Lucien, Quentin was the furthest thing from his mind right now as he walked beside this fascinating young man with whom he seemed to have so much in common. Of course he had no intention of being unfaithful to his spouse, he was just starved for more refined company than Quentin had been lately.

They had been following the stream as they talked, going further and further from the riding path. By the time they got to the willow tree growing beside the stream, Lucien was beginning to feel uneasy. Surely they had been out here longer than an hour already? Quentin must have arrived back at the stable by now. He would be worried if Lucien didn’t show up soon. Worse, he would be mad with jealousy if Lucien rode up with his new friend.

“Roger,” Lucien now addressed his new friend by his given name, having been urged to do so right after they dismounted, “should we not be heading back now? Surely the horses are rested enough to ride.”

“Maybe.” Roger petted Hector’s nose as the big black nudged him toward the running water. “But I think this big guy is asking for a drink of water. Why don’t we let them have a good drink at the stream before we head back?”

“Is the water fresh?” Lucien looked doubtfully at the stream.

“Oh, it’s fresh. I checked it out myself on my first day here.” Roger led his horse to the water without further ado.

Lucien followed with his horse, watching Hector’s reaction to the water before letting Lizzie dip her muzzle. As the horses drank, Lucien asked casually, “How long have you been here, Roger?”

“I got here a day ahead of you. It gave me plenty of time to do some sightseeing.”

“How interesting.” Lucien regarded him with growing suspicion in his hazel eyes. “Do you usually check out all the attractions of a resort on your first day?”

“Oh, I didn’t check out everything. Only the things that I knew you would like,” Roger admitted with a boyish grin.

“And why would you be so interested in what I like, Roger?”

“Because I knew you were coming here,” said Roger with another burst of candor. “And I wanted to impress you with more than just my good looks.”

Lucien regarded him with astonishment. “I find it hard to believe that you would go to such lengths to impress me, Roger.”

“And I find it hard to believe that you think so little of your charms, Lucien. Do you think you’re not worth the effort?”

Lucien had to look away from the bright-eyed gaze, pretending to fuss over Lizzy as he pulled her head up from the stream and admonished her for drinking too fast. She protested a little, then became more docile as Lucien stroked her dappled neck. She rested her head affectionately on his shoulder for a few moments, during which he said to Roger, “No one has made such an effort to impress me since I met Quentin over thirty years ago, and he had some very stiff competition.”

“In more ways than one, I’m sure,” Roger joked. “But seriously, Lucien, I think that Quentin hasn’t been treating you right. He treats you like his property, not like a person. The jealous scenes he makes, the way he speaks to you so abruptly, so condescendingly--why do you put up with it? You deserve better.”

 _*Why do I put up with it?*_   Lucien wondered, thinking back over their lives together and remembering all the times Quentin had embarrassed him with his gauche behavior, his lack of refinement, and his constant criticism of Lucien’s friends, family and art. Forgotten were all of Quentin’s acts of kindness, his patience with Lucien’s late mother and her endless fussing, even his cheerful acceptance of occasional babysitting duties whenever Lucien’s older brother and sister-in-law came to New York on one of their biannual visits and asked them to look after their little boy Claude while they went shopping and sight-seeing. All Lucien could think about at that moment was all of Quentin’s shortcomings, none of which he could see in Roger.

Sensing that the moment was right, Roger led his horse away from the water toward the willow tree growing close by, touching Lucien’s arm casually in passing. “Come on, let’s sit in the shade for a while,” he urged him. “We can head back after we’ve all cooled down.”

Lucien followed him willingly enough, hitching his horse next to Roger’s on a low-hanging willow branch. When he turned and saw Roger sitting on one of the tree’s huge, gnarled roots in the cool, green shade, he hesitated briefly.

 _*I really shouldn’t be alone with him. I’ve spent too much time with him as it is. Quentin will certainly be jealous.*_ Then he remembered Quentin’s behavior last night in the restaurant and it made him angry. _*Who is Quentin Rogue to tell me what to do? Just because we’ve lived together as married for the last thirty years doesn’t mean that we are! Even though I would like to be…*_  Remembering how Quentin had ridiculed the suggestion that they go to Hawaii to get married when same-sex marriages became legal there made him angry again. _*To hell with Quentin! I shall do as I please!*_ Lucien went and sat in the shade beside Roger on the same oversized tree root. The younger man was careful to hide his triumphant smirk by turning his head to one side, as if to admire the scenery.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, before Roger began speaking to Lucien in French, a language that Quentin had never mastered in all of their years together. Thoughts of Quentin receded further and further from Lucien’s mind as Roger complimented him in his native tongue on his artistic skills and his excellent horsemanship. “You even dress like a proper horseman,” Roger commented at one point, laying a hand casually on Lucien’s left thigh. “I seldom wear jodhpurs myself, preferring the American style of riding, which originated in the Old West. But it is always good to see a fellow equestrian who takes riding seriously.”

“I tend to take most things seriously,” Lucien assured him. “Especially those things that are dear to me.”

“You could be dear to me, Lucien.” Roger told him softly, squeezing his thigh gently as he locked eyes with him. “I would cherish you like the treasure you are. I would never take you for granted, nor embarrass you in public. You and I could be so happy together.” As he spoke, he moved his hand up and down Lucien’s thigh in an unmistakable caress.

Lucien felt as if he were in a romantic dream, the kind he used to have before he met Quentin, when he was young and lonely and longed for somebody to love. Even then, he had never dared hope to find someone like Roger to love him. The closest he had ever gotten to a man like this was when he hired one as a model for a portrait. That such a man should be attracted to him now, at his age, was too good to be true. “Roger, I fear you are mistaken,” he told him in English as he moved away from him. “I am not the man for you.”

“Yes, you are.” Roger moved a little closer to him and put his arm around Lucien’s waist as he continued to look into his eyes. “You’re the man I want, the only man for me. Just let me love you and you’ll know we were meant to be together .”

Lucien felt his face flush hot with embarrassment or desire, he wasn’t sure which. What kind of game was Roger playing with him? Was he trying to seduce him so he could take him for everything he could get? He didn’t seem like a gold digger. But why else would he be making love to an old man twice his age? Lucien moved further away from him on the tree root, gently breaking free of Roger’s grip around his waist.

“Roger, please don’t tempt me,” he said, trying to let him down gently. “I will admit that my life with Quentin is not perfect, but it is not yet bad enough to make me want to replace him.”

“Why not? Why should you go on settling for him when you can have me?” Roger reached out again to caress his cheek, resisting the urge to just grab him and kiss him; he knew that such caveman tactics would only scare him off. “You have much more in common with me than you do with him. Come to me, Lucien. Come to me and I’ll keep you safe and happy.”

“What makes you think that I need your protection?” Lucien brushed Roger’s hand from his face as though it were an annoying fly. “I’m old enough to take care of myself, _merci beaucoup._ As for making me happy, all you need to do is let me enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

“We could be enjoying each other in so many other ways, Lucien,” Roger coaxed him.

“I think not. I admit that I find you attractive, but that is not enough to begin a relationship. Or to end one.” Lucien rose from his seat and started to leave.

Roger immediately got up and stood in his way. “Don’t go, Lucien!” he pleaded.

“But I must. Quentin will be waiting.”

“But I’ve been waiting all my life for someone like you!” Roger had used this line successfully on his last two lovers and had no shame about using it again.

“It would never work between us, _mon ami_.” Lucien nearly said “ _mon cher_ ”, his private term of endearment for Quentin, to the sad-looking young man before him. “Find yourself another man, someone closer to your own age.”

“You’re the one that I want,” Roger insisted. “You admitted that you find me attractive. Why don’t you put it to the test?”

“How should I do that?”

“Kiss me. Go on, I dare you to!” Roger challenged him. “Kiss me and see how it affects you. If you can walk away from me after one kiss, I’ll let you.”

Lucien couldn’t help but smile at this challenge. “You sound very sure of yourself, _mon ami_.”

“Can you say the same?” Roger grinned. “Go ahead, kiss me. I dare you. I double-dare you!”

Lucien laughed. “One dare is enough, _mon ami_.” He didn’t see any harm in accepting this challenge. It would give him an excuse to satisfy his curiosity about Roger without endangering his bond with Quentin, whom he did love very much despite his faults. Since they were already standing so close together, he only needed to take one step to be face to face with Roger. But Roger was so much taller then he was that Lucien had to tilt his head back, while Roger obligingly lowered his head. Then their lips met and the world went away for a while.

Lucien found himself drawn into a warm, dark place with Roger and himself at its center. It was filled with the scents of springtime all around them, blooming flowers, green grass and leaves. Nearby were the sounds of running water from the steam, the rustle of willow leaves overhead blowing in the spring breeze, and an occasional stomp or jingle of the harness from their horses, who found their own company more fascinating then what the two humans were doing.

A small, still voice inside Lucien’s head warned him that it was time to stop now. He did make an honest effort to pull away from Roger, but when Roger grasped his shoulders and pulled him closer, he didn’t struggle or protest. The kiss deepened; Lucien found himself opening his mouth to admit Roger’s tongue. Through the haze and heat of rising passion, he kept hearing that small, still voice telling him to stop before it was too late. He raised his right hand to push Roger away and found himself wrapping his arm around Roger’s neck instead. He emitted a low moan of protest that sounded more like desire as Roger ravished his mouth with his tongue.

The next thing Lucien knew, Roger was picking him up in his strong arms and carrying him under the willow tree, where he was laid gently down on the soft grass in the shade. Roger laid on top of him, covering him like a blanket, while they continued to kiss. His big hands were warm and gentle as they caressed Lucien, touching him through his thin polo shirt. Lucien couldn’t help but caress him in return, stroking his broad shoulders and back. It felt like a dream, a beautiful dream where everything was happening in slow motion. He felt Roger rubbing his nipples through the thin material of his shirt, which made him incredibly hot as these tender nubs of flesh peaked and started poking through his shirt. When they did, Roger kissed them, one after the other, which made Lucien whimper with delight. He wished he could feel Roger’s hot mouth on his nipples and those skilled hands on his cock.

As if he had read his mind, Roger stopped kissing his nipples long enough to pull the yellow shirt out of his pants and yank it up far enough to reveal Lucien’s swollen nipples peeping out of his graying chest hair. Roger set his mouth on the left nipple and sucked it, while he pinched the other nipple gently. Lucien moaned and arched his back, gasping for breath as his cock hardened.

Roger put his mouth on the other nipple and licked it delicately, like an ice cream cone, while his hands went to Lucien’s narrow waist and unfastened his riding breeches. It wasn’t easy pulling them down; Lucien had to lift his hips to help him. Once he had access to the artist’s erection, he played with it, stroking it lovingly and squeezing it through Lucien’s designer briefs. Just when Lucien thought he couldn’t take it anymore, Roger made his way down Lucien’s hairy chest, kissing and licking every inch of flesh that lay between him and the cock he longed to suck. When he did finally reach Lucien’s cock, he laid his cheek against the throbbing organ, reveling in the power he had to stir older men to life sexually. Then he licked Lucien’s cock head, which was seeping with pre-cum, relishing the salty-sweet taste. When he had licked it long enough to make Lucien whimper with eagerness and longing, he sucked the head into his mouth.

Lucien gasped at the sudden sensation of warm wetness engulfing his cock. He certainly hadn’t expected a kiss to lead to this! He knew it was wrong to let Roger take such liberties with him, but he couldn’t do or say anything to stop him. It felt so good to be in his mouth, that talented mouth which had kissed his so well and made him forget everything except the pleasure of Roger’s company. He lay there in the grass, staring up at the willow leaves waving in the breeze as Roger sucked his cock and played with his balls, hefting them gently in their fleshy sack.

While he was sucking Lucien, Roger unzipped his jeans and reached inside to massage his own turgid cock. He wasn’t in a position to ask for anal sex; besides, it was too soon. So he pleasured himself, squeezing and tugging on his big cock, which filled his hand nicely. When he tasted Lucien’s come as it filled his mouth in a hot jet stream, his own orgasm followed, filling his hand to overflowing.

Then it was over, and he was wiping his hand on the green grass while he allowed Lucien’s limp cock to fall from his lips. He rested his head on the older man’s belly while they both recovered from their near simultaneous climaxes. After a while he sat up and offered Lucien a hand, helping him to his feet as he rose. They fixed their clothing, making sure that everything was tucked in and zipped up. Then they had to brush grass off of each other; Lucien’s beige riding trousers showed grass stains more easily than Roger’s black jeans, but it couldn’t be helped. Roger then led him to his horse, embracing him affectionately before helping him to mount.

Lucien was grateful for this courtesy, as he was still feeling a bit weak in the knees. He was also feeling very guilty. _*How could I do such a thing? Why would I forget myself and the life I share with Quentin to dally with a young man I just met? And why did I enjoy it so much?*_  Neither of them said a word as Roger mounted his horse and they both followed the stream back to the riding path.

* * *

It was only as they were approaching the riding stable at an easy walk that Roger spoke to him. “I suppose you’ll be having lunch with Quentin?”

“Yes, I must make it up to him somehow for leaving him behind.” Lucien avoided looking at him as he spoke.

“I’m sure he’s back at the stable by now, probably waiting to bawl you out. Why don’t you have lunch with me instead?”

“No, no, thank you, I must meet Quentin.” Lucien felt a strong desire to break into a trot and leave Roger far behind, but that would be a rude way to treat someone he had just been so intimate with.

“Then meet me for dinner,” Roger urged him. “I’ll be at Dionysus’ Vineyard. See if you can slip away during Reg White’s show. I’ll be waiting for you out on the terrace. We can go up to my room.”

“No, I can’t!” Lucien said emphatically. “I’m sorry, Roger, but this must stop here. I can’t deceive Quentin twice in one day.”

“Oh, come on, Lucien! You weren’t so reluctant out there in the meadow.”

“That was a mistake.” Lucien could feel his face flaming with embarrassment. “I never should have done it.”

“Well, you can’t undo it. So you might as well enjoy it.” Roger edged his horse a little closer so that his leg was brushing against Lucien’s as they rode. “Come on, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” he murmured slyly. “You liked it as much as I did. I could tell. We could do a lot more things together that you’ll like better, after we’ve had dinner.”

“I said no, Roger.” There was no mistaking the determination in Lucien’s baritone voice. “I will not spend another minute alone with you. I am sorry if I gave you false hopes, but I do not wish to deceive Quentin any longer.”

“Son of a bitch!” Roger swore softly, giving him an angry sideways glance; there were people on the trail ahead of them and he didn’t want to attract attention. “You’re not throwing me over after one lousy blowjob, Lucien. I want more from you and I intend to get it!”

“It is not mine to give, Roger,” Lucien replied just as softly, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his dignity intact. “If you are a gentleman, you will make no further demands of me. I do not wish to see you anymore, is that clear?” Abandoning all courtesy, he dug his heels into Lizzie’s sides, and breaking into a quick trot he headed for the riding stable without a backward glance.

Roger ground his teeth. This was going to be harder than he thought. Usually his chosen lover would be melting into his arms by now and begging for a chance to see him again as soon as possible. Then again, neither of his previous lovers had already had a long-time lover in residence. _*So I’ll just have to work on him a bit more. He’ll come around, once I show him how much pleasanter life without Quentin can be.*_

As Lucien and Lizzy approached the entrance to the riding stable, they met Reg White coming out, mounted on the beautiful Palomino Jason, followed closely by his bodyguard, who was also his current lover, mounted on a sturdy bay, and his photographer on a white horse. “Lucien!” Reg cried delightedly. “When did you arrive, my dear? Where have you been all this time? And where’s your significant other?”

“Hello, Reg.” Lucien couldn’t help but smile at the flamboyant musician, decked out in an all-white riding outfit, complete with bandana and Stetson hat, just like Roy Rogers, with his OBE medal pinned to his left breast and golden spurs on his shiny black boots. “Quentin and I arrived last night. We caught your act in the restaurant where we had dinner, but we were too jet-lagged to go backstage afterwards. So we went to bed early.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t sleep, though!” Reg let out a cackling laugh as Jason capered restlessly beneath him. Reg bought the horse under control effortlessly; beneath his foppish exterior was an extremely capable man with a determined will. “I insist that you two come to my after party tonight in the Ganymede Lounge. That’s tennish, darling. I’m only giving one show tonight. Don’t be late!”

“We shan’t,” Lucien assured him. He wasn’t looking forward to it; Reg gave wonderful parties, but they were inevitably spoiled by thuggish behavior from one or another of his band members. “By the way, how did you manage to get all the members of the White Outs here? Doesn’t Hephastion’s Resort have a “Gays Only” policy?”

“Oh, well…” Reg shrugged, looking boyishly mischievous as his brown eyes sparkled behind his red glasses. “When I explained it to the lads, Ned, Murphy, and Lionel decided to take some time off. And I believe Michael wanted to spend some time with his new wife. So I wished them well and hired replacements for them for this gig.”:

Lucien was relieved to hear that. All the aforementioned members of the White Outs were straight and gay friendly, but they were also responsible for most of the fights whenever the band partied in public, either defending their gay band mates or trying to prove their own manliness to hostile gay-bashers stupid enough to open their mouths in front of them. “It was nice of you to give the lads some time off. I imagine things will be a lot quieter without them.”

“Yes, they certainly will.” Reg, who loved all his friends dearly, couldn’t help but notice how Ned, Murphy, Lionel and Michael always seemed to start all the fights. Before he could comment on this fact, his eyes widened and he cocked his head to look behind Lucien. “Oh, look! Here comes Quentin now.” He let out another cackling laugh. “The poor man looks ready to burst! Better go help him dismount, Lucien, or he’s liable to punch the horse like that big brute in “Blazing Saddles.”

Lucien dismounted himself and went to meet the slow-moving Meatloaf, who had a mouthful of yellow dandelions and looked at peace with the world. Quentin looked so disgusted, it was easy to believe that he wanted to punch the horse. “Quentin, _mon cher_ , where have you been all this time? Did Meatloaf run away with you?” Lucien teased him.

“I wish! I’ve just been taken on a long, lovely ride through the countryside at the speed of a tortoise.” Quentin got off the horse as Lucien held it for him, rubbed his butt with both hands and groaned. “My butt is sore, my throat is dry, and I’m so hungry I could eat any horse but this one.” He glared at Meatloaf, who looked back at him placidly and went on chewing dandelions. “I know how much you love horses, Lucien, but can we shoot this one? Please?”

Lucien couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sorry, Quentin, but I don’t think the owners of this resort will take kindly to having one of their horses shot by a guest. Unless the horse has broken a leg, of course.”

“Broken a leg, eh?” Quentin spotted a shovel sticking out of a pile of manure. “Okay, hand me that shovel and stand back.”

“Quentin, darling!” Reg White trilled at him as he rode by. “I’ll be expecting you and Lucien at the Ganymede Lounge tonight, ten sharp. But don’t use that horse to get there, or we won’t see you till after midnight.”

“Oh, shut up, Reg! Who asked you?” Quentin yelled at their mutual friend as he rode off, trailed by his posse.

Lucien led both horses into the stable while Quentin followed, complaining the whole time. After turning the animals over to Stevie, Lucien took his disgruntled spouse by the arm and gently but firmly led him away before he could start haranguing the stable boy for sticking him with a slowpoke. As they walked through the cool, dimly-lit stable, Quentin remarked, “Well, I’m sure you had a much pleasanter ride then I did. Did you take the long way home? I know I didn’t pass you on the riding trail.”

Lucien felt his heartbeat suddenly speed up with fear and guilt. He forced himself to remain calm and reply humerously, “It sounds more as if you were the one who took the long way home, _mon cher_.”

“The way that horse was dragging his feet, I was sure I’d never get back here before sundown. How was your ride?” Quentin persisted.

“As a matter of fact, I went off the beaten path once I had jumped over the stream,” Lucien told him casually, figuring a half-truth was safe enough. “I took a fall off my horse and had to go sit down for a while.”

“Oh, my goodness! My poor Lucien!” Quentin regarded him with genuine concern. “That nasty brute threw you off! Are you hurt?”

“No, just a bit shaken up. And the horse did not throw me, Quentin, I simply fell off. A risk one takes with every jump.” Lucien tried not to think of the other risky behaviors he had engaged in that morning.

“No wonder your pants have grass stains!” Quentin commented after a look at Lucien’s backside. “Why you insist on taking such risks at your age, I’ll never understand! It’s bad enough you insist on riding these brutes, do you have to jump them as well? Has Christopher Reeve’s accident taught you nothing?” He went on and on about the dangers of horseback riding while Lucien led him to the door of the stable, intending to steer him toward the outdoor café they had passed on their way here for a late lunch. He knew that Quentin was just expressing his concern for his spouse’s safety and would stop as soon as he ran out of steam.

As they walked together arm in arm, they passed Roger, who was grooming Hector himself in the stall closest to the door. He looked up from brushing the black stallion’s coat to stare right at Lucien, as if daring him to look at him. Quentin had his head turned away, looking at Lucien, so he didn’t even see Roger as he continued his harangue. Lucien gave Roger a single cool stare as he passed and returned his attention to Quentin. They walked out of the stable together without looking back.

Roger was furious. He saw Lucien slipping through his fingers, along with all his paintings, which would never adorn his gallery’s walls until Lucien adorned his bed. _*You’re not leaving with him!*_ he thought as he brushed the horse with short, hard strokes. _*I didn’t spend all this time and money on my contacts in New York to find out when you’d be coming here, and on getting you alone once I met you, just so you could go back to New York with that queen-bitch Quentin! You’re coming back to Aspen with me!*_

Hector protested being brushed too hard. Roger stopped what he was doing, stroked Hector and spoke to him soothingly to calm them both down, as he tried to think of a way to get Lucien Le Barre into his bed. It was no longer an amusing diversion with a profitable payoff anymore. Now it was a challenge. And Roger Wilkins had never been one to refuse a challenge…


	13. Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by PetLeopard56 alone. Focuses on Storm Garner and Victor Haze.

"Photograph"  
by Pet Leopard

Storm and Victor

"Now all I've got is a photograph and I realize you're not coming back anymore..."  
Ringo Starr, "Photograph".

* * *

Storm Garner looked out the window. Little droplets of rain fell, but resounded like stone pellets against the backdrop of the glass pane. In the privacy of Storm's penthouse room, the 45-year-old entrepreneur was free to be himself. No displays of authority were necessary. Within the confines of this room, the owner of Hephastian's Resort was not very much different from the patrons of his establishment. He was alone and he was lonely. 

Today was Jonathan's birthday. He had been dead for less than a year. Everyone told Storm that things would get easier as time passed. Either they didn't know what they were talking about, Storm thought as he took a puff of his cigarette, or they were all a bunch of damned liars. 

It had been six months since Jonathan's death and things had not gotten easier. Each day was more of a struggle than the day that preceded it. He put on a show of toughness, authority and control to those who worked under him, but had done so only for Jonathan's sake. He had promised Jonathan that he would take care of things after his passing. Indeed, it was only the fulfillment of this promise to his deceased lover that had kept him going for the past six months. 

He thought that he could make Jonathan's birthday pass quickly, just like any other day. But when he awoke, he felt like a hundred pound weight was dropped on his head. The depression was so intense that he couldn't move himself out of bed. Nor did he have any reason to want to do so. Jonathan's birthday, without Jonathan--the thought was too much for him to bear. 

Assuming a position of firm resolve, he pulled himself up from out of bed and looked in the mirror. The reflection that he saw staring back at him was hideous. His light brown hair was long and uncombed, three days worth of razor stubble had accumulated below his chin and on the sides of his face. His wrinkled blue robe covered his frail naked form. He wore no slippers on his feet as he made his way to the window. He took a cigarette from the holder on top of the dresser, fumbled for a lighter and then took a quiet puff. 

He knew what had to be done and today was the day to do it. He had been putting it off long enough. He had not taken a day off from work, ever since the week of Jonathan's passing. With a feeling of regret, he picked up the telephone and dialed the number for his office. His new secretary, Matt McGuire, picked up the phone. 

Matt had only been working at the resort for a very short time, but he practically knew the resort's entire system of operations and management. First hired as a busboy, the perky 36-year-old had moved his way up to the position of Administrative Assistant within a very short time. This kid had potential, all right. He definitely had the ability to operate the every aspect of the business carefully and efficiently. Sometimes a little too efficiently, for Storm's tastes. Still, for an occasion such as this, when he needed a day off, there was no one that Storm felt to be more capable than Matt McGuire.

"Good morning, Hephastian's Resort. Matt McGuire speaking. How may I help you?" There was always a smile in Matt's voice every time that Storm spoke to him by telephone--that same unwavering quality of courtesy and efficiency. 

Storm sighed before he spoke. He could not remember when he himself had ever been able to muster up as much enthusiasm when conversing on the phone. The kid was a natural. 

"Hello Matt. Storm Garner here," he said in a weary voice, just above the auditory level of a whisper.

"Yes, sir! Good morning, Mr. Garner. What can I do for you, sir?" Matt's voice immediately assumed the mandatory tone of professionalism that was necessary when speaking to the boss.

"Matt, I'm feeling a little 'under the weather' today. Would you mind very much taking over for me in the office? I taught you how to log in the bills and payments. You know what to do, right?" Storm's voice trailed off. He didn't have the energy to continue this conversation for very much longer. 

The zealous, energetic and bouncy response was immediate. "Oh, yes sir! I'm happy to help out. One thing though, in my efforts to improve the efficiency of office operations, I took the liberty of buying some new software with twice as much storage space as our old system. Do I have your permission to try it out on our bills and payments data, sir?" His voice retained its' annoying quality of perkiness from beginning to end.

Storm stared up at the ceiling in a gesture of frustration as he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, kid. Just keep me posted on any emergencies and give me a full report in the morning. Think you could do that?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you sir! Will there be anything else, sir?"

Storm ran his fingers through his hair as he responded impatiently. "That will be all, Matt." He hung up the phone quickly. If he heard one more "Yes, sir!" he would probably run down there in his bathrobe and strangle the kid himself. It was Jonathan's idea to hire the kid, after all, and he would do his best to honor the wishes of his lover. 

Speaking of which, he knew what had to be done today. There were at least fifty photo albums that were in the room that needed to be packed into boxes and put into storage. Storm had been avoiding this task ever since Jonathan's passing, but today felt like the right time to do this unpleasant task. The albums were full of their pictures. Storm and Jonathan loved to travel and they took pictures of every place that they visited. On cold and rainy days, such as this one, they would stay at home, snuggle together and look through their photographs. But Jonathan was gone now and it was only the right thing to do to lay his memories to rest respectfully. He and Jonathan had rented a storage space nearby to keep all of their valuables and precious possessions. The facility was secure, airtight and waterproof. Only Storm and Jonathan knew where the facility was located. They owned the only two keys to the lock--keys that were impossible to copy. The photo albums deserved to be there. Jonathan would have wanted it that way....

Storm slowly walked around the large penthouse room. Fine tiled floors that used to be well cleaned, mopped and spotless were now dusty, dirty and downright filthy. When Jonathan was with him, there was not a dish, pot or even a spoon in the kitchen sink. Now the sink was filled with several days worth of dirty plates and silverware. If Jonathan were here now, Storm would certainly get a firm tongue lashing as chastisement for his sloppiness. If only Jonathan were here now...

Storm wearily walked over to the closet and opened it. Dirty laundry fell out of every corner and from every direction. He sighed, threw the soiled clothing aside and bent down to look for the five old cardboard boxes that he was looking for. One at a time, with a great deal of effort, he pulled each box to the area of his desk. Near his desk were several new and clean storage boxes that were ready to be packed. 

When the last box was moved over to his desk area, he carefully dusted off one book at a time, with a clean towel. Sometimes he would look through the first few pages of the albums to rekindle old memories. After a while, he found that even doing this was much too painful. He settled for cleaning and packing the albums, without opening the books. 

When he was just about to open a new box, he noticed a single photograph on the floor. It must have fallen out of one of the books when he was packing the boxes. The logical thing to do would be to turn over the picture, find out which album that it had came from and put it back in the correct book. However, when Storm turned over the photo, he received quite an unpleasant surprise. 

The picture was taken against a backdrop of an old sailing vessel. Two men stood side by side, with their arms around each other. One was maybe about five years older than the other. The older man wore a blue button down shirt, a pair of white shorts and white loafers. His black hair and beard showed a very slight tint of gray. The younger man was dressed in a red shirt with a black windbreaker. His dark blond hair was long and messed by the wind. He was clean-shaven and he wore blue dress pants, with black shoes. Both men were smiling. There was no doubt that the older man was a much younger version of Jonathan, taken perhaps twenty years ago. The younger man was harder to recognize. He did not know who this man was, but there was an odd sense of familiarity about him. 

Storm had never seen this picture before. Jonathan had never shared it with him. Perhaps it was just an acquaintance, from Jonathan's. past. No real cause for concern. Perhaps it came from the old green album in the middle of the pile of books. Storm did not recognize this particular album as one that he and Jonathan had filled with their pictures. Storm had found it as he was cleaning out Jonathan's desk, after his lover's passing, and had automatically placed the strange book with the all the other albums. 

Carefully, Storm opened the green book. It was old and fragile. The cover looked like it was worn and about to fall off. He looked through the pictures quickly and was shocked to find that every picture in this album was of Jonathan and this mysterious young man. Different photos taken in different places at different times. Yet there was no doubt about it. He and Jonathan were definitely lovers in the past. 

Storm felt the rage building within him, as his fists clenched. His face reddened and he forcefully threw the green album against the wall, thus shattering a mirror. The frail book completely fell apart, with album pages and photos scattered about the room. 

"Damn it to hell!!!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He banged his head up against the wall. He quickly walked to the bar, which was located in the middle of the room and poured himself a tall glass of brandy. He drank it down in one gulp and he collapsed in the rocking chair near the window. For a long time, he just stared out the window and said nothing. 

A memory started to slowly surface as he gradually began to calm down. When he and Jonathan had first began to get involved, they had each talked about their past lovers. Considering the risks that were inherent in the lifestyle of gay men, they had mutually consented to be honest with each other. Jonathan had confided that he had been involved in only one deep and meaningful relationship before he met Storm. They had been together for a long time and Jonathan had taken it very hard when his first lover broke up with him. Thus began a long, self-destructive phase in the life of Jonathan Bing, in which he slept with men indiscreetly and irresponsibly, engaging in several careless encounters with meaningless partners. Unfortunately, one of those "careless encounters" had carried the dreaded HIV virus. 

Yes, indeed, Jonathan had been honest with him. There was no doubt in Storm's mind that the man in these mysterious photos was Jonathan's first lover. There was no logical reason for him to be angry or jealous. It was an affair that had been long past. The painful question still remained the same: What should be done with the old green photo album? Storm halfway considered throwing it away to rid himself of the unpleasant memories, but a subtle thought came to him. What right had he to take it upon himself to tamper with Jonathan's memories? How would he feel if Jonathan took it upon himself to desecrate Storm's personal property? Reluctantly, Storm picked up the remains of the destroyed album and decided to repair it. The honorable thing to do would be to pack it away with the other photo albums. He owed Jonathan that much at least. 

He looked around the room for some tape and glue. He looked in one desk drawer after another, but was not able to find the supplies that he was looking for. He groaned as he evaluated his options. He was about to pick up the phone and call his office to order the supplies, but was in no mood right now to contend with Matt's sickening cheerfulness. He searched around for his trench coat, hat and moccasins, which he put on quickly. He did not feel like getting fully dressed, but he had to make himself look presentable as he took the elevator down to Pierce Allan's shop. He looked in the cracked mirror at his reflection. For some odd reason, he liked his reflection better now, looking at himself through a cracked reflection than he did earlier, before the mirror was broken. The trench coat was green with a black armband bound across it. It was the same coat that he wore on the day that he buried his lover six months earlier. His slanted fedora was black and well fitting. However, his moccasins were old and worn. He was hoping that nobody would notice that he wasn't wearing any socks. 

As he slammed the door shut, it locked automatically and just like that Storm was now in the corridor leading to the elevator. The hallway seemed like a different world from his room, in which he cloistered himself for so many endless hours. As he walked towards the elevator, the same nagging thought came into his head: Who was the young man in the photographs? I know that I saw him before, but I can't remember where or when. Who is he?

This nagging thought preoccupied him as the elevator door opened and Storm slowly stepped on. He was still preoccupied with the same problem of connecting meaningless names and faces, when the elevator door opened again a few levels below. Two men got on the elevator. The first man was younger. He was about fifty years old with dark brown hair and he boisterously pushed his way onto the elevator. The second man, ten years older, almost bald, and with a much more refined gait, slowly followed him. Both men were wearing clothing and boots which were suitable for a day of horseback riding. 

"Move aside, move aside!!" The younger man, practically pushed Storm out of the way as he boarded the elevator. He was so preoccupied with conversing with his partner that he was completely unaware that he was sharing an elevator with the owner of the resort. The older man Storm immediately recognized as Lucien Le Barre, the famous artist. Lucien nodded respectfully to Storm and silently gestured an apology for his partner's rude behavior. Quentin Rogue, Lucien's partner, gestured towards Lucien in an much more emphatic manner: 

"Don't know why you couldn't just be satisfied with spending a nice quiet day in the room. You just had to go horseback riding!"

Before Lucien could respond, the elevator doors opened and they were all on the ground floor promenade. Quentin nearly knocked Storm down as he exited the elevator, invoking another gesture of apology from Lucien on his lover's behalf. This brought a slight smile to Storm's lips. This was the first time that he smiled all day long. Scattered around the grounds of the hotel were many stores and private businesses. One of these was Pierce Allan's bookstore. Pierce not only sold books, but stationary supplies as well. Storm would get what he needed and continue his packing work in his penthouse room. 

When he entered the store, he looked through the aisles and picked up some supplies. The tape and glue were neatly arranged in order on one of the shelves, just below the notebooks and art pads. He was about to get on line, when he was hit with an inspiration. He decided to get an artist's sketchpad and a pen, while he was here anyway. He had an idea that he wanted to play with. 

He looked around for Pierce, but the storeowner was nowhere to be found. Instead, his partner was behind the counter. He only met the man once. His name was Vincent, or something like that. He was one of the many shapeless names and faces that passed his way every day. 

Since Storm was the owner of the resort, he could have taken anything that he wanted from the subsidiary stores under him at any time, without paying for it. However, he was taught a certain business ethic by his father, which he held in high esteem. It was a certain working class standard that he remembered years after he had made it big in the hotel business. Therefore, with that thought in mind, Storm Garner got on line with his items in hand, like any other honest paying customer. 

When it was Storm's turn to be serviced, he eyed the clerk carefully. He was a tall man in his mid forties. He dressed well. He wore a light blue cardigan, white shirt and red tie. His hair was light brown, short and he wore rounded glasses. Storm couldn't help but notice that the clerk wore a black armband over one of his sleeves. 

The clerk worked efficiently and accurately, although he did seem to be a little preoccupied. However, when Storm put his items on the counter, the clerk immediately recognized him. 

"Oh...ah...Good morning, Mr. Garner." The clerk, for some reason, seemed to be exceptionally nervous this morning. His British-accented voice seemed to be slightly high pitched as he greeted the hotel owner. 

"Good morning, Vincent." Storm answered casually. 

"Ah...Mr. Garner, my name is Victor. Victor Haze." The clerk responded in a very nervous manner. His hands even seemed to be shaking a little bit. 

Storm thought this to be odd. He observed Victor's movements carefully, but did not comment on them. "Yes, Victor. You're Pierce's partner, aren't you?" he asked, making eye contact with the other man.

Victor was now sweating. "Oh, ah, yes, sir. We're business partners." He smiled nervously. 

Storm gave him an ironic smile, as Victor packed up the items that he bought. Storm went through his coat pockets, found some loose bills and change and paid for the items, and Victor gave him a receipt. "No need to explain. Have a nice day. Give Pierce my regards." 

Victor nodded respectfully as Storm exited the store. 

Storm carried the shopping bag, which contained the tape, the glue, the artist's pad and pen, and proceeded to walk to the food concession stand, which was adjacent to the bookstore, to get a cup of coffee. 

After Storm sat down with the coffee, he slowly unpacked the contents of the bag. He was in no rush to get back up to the room. He wanted to slowly savor the warm brew, as he took out the artist's sketchpad and pencil. Back in his younger days as an undergraduate at UCLA, he was quite an artist. His idea was to "play" with the features in the mysterious photograph, which he took out of his pocket, in an effort to identify the strange person who stood next to Jonathan. 

After working with several different variations of features unsuccessfully, he crumpled up his first paper. He knew this man, damn it! He knew him! So, why didn't he know him? Frustrated, he played with the caricature all over again. 

He heard the sound of someone walking closer to him. Storm quickly covered up his work. 

"Ahem. Oh, ah, Mr. Garner, " Victor Haze said nervously. "Sorry to interrupt you."

Storm sighed. "Yes, Victor, what is it?"

Victor sounded even more nervous now. "Ah, sir, I'm so sorry, but I forgot to give you your change." He handed Storm some small change, a few quarters, nickles and dimes. Storm accepted the change graciously, but used the occasion as an opportunity to maintain closer eye contact with Mr. Haze. 

After the clerk left his table, an idea came to Storm. It was a crazy idea, but it was worth a try anyway. He drew a quick caricature of Victor Haze. He started to make modifications for age, carefully removing the outlines of the glasses, adding a few wrinkles and graying hair. All at once, it made sense. The figure in the caricature was now identical to the man in the photograph. The mystery was now solved. The man in the photo was none other than Victor Haze!


	14. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Slasherfem. Focusing on Lucien, Quentin and Roger

“Revelations”  
by Slasherfem

 

LUCIEN, QUENTIN AND ROGER

After a splendid lunch at Neptune’s Café, Lucien and Quentin went back upstairs to their room to shower and change. To Quentin’s surprise, Lucien insisted on locking the bathroom door while he showered alone. Miffed at missing his usual fun and games, Quentin gradually realized that Lucien might still be too sore from his fall to indulge in their usual aquatic activity. So he shrugged it off, reasoning that there was plenty of time to make up for it during the two weeks they would be here. But he now had a grudge against Dizzy Miss Lizzy as well as Meatloaf.

When they were both freshly showered and changed-- Lucien elegant in a thin white cotton sweater beneath a black leather jacket, with tailored black slacks and black loafers, Quentin more colorful in a red print Hawaiian shirt covered with yellow and green pineapples over yet another pair of khakis, fatigue green in color, and brown sandals--they spent the rest of the day wandering about the resort, taking in the sights; browsing in a quaint little bookstore, admiring a sidewalk display of art outside an arts and crafts store, and shopping at a little boutique called East Meets West, which specialized in Asian products. By the end of the day they were both tired but happy as they trudged back to the hotel, loaded down with the souvenirs they had bought.

As Quentin stuffed the little print of Sherlock Holmes and his faithful friend Doctor Watson he had bought from the sidewalk artist into the bookstore bag holding the latest mystery by Eric Garcia, as well as an anthology of vampire stories, he suggested to Lucien, “What say we have a drink at that outdoor café where we had lunch?”

Lucien, whose arms were full with an exquisite blue willow tea set, as well as a coffee table book of photos of the Beatles by photographer Robert Freeman, replied, “I would rather drink inside, where there is air conditioning. It has gotten rather sultry outside.” The truth was that he was afraid of running into Roger outside.

“Oh, all right. To tell the truth, I could do with some air conditioning too. But let’s not go to Dionysus’ Vineyard. It’s too busy in there.”

“Yes, let us drink at the hotel bar. We can eat at the restaurant later tonight.” Then he remembered Roger’s intention of waiting there for him outside on the terrace and added hastily, “Unless you prefer to eat at Ganymede’s Lounge, of course.”

“No, I’d rather eat at the restaurant. I just don’t feel like drinking there, that’s all.”

“As you wish, _mon cher_.” Lucien remained silent the rest of the way to the Pyramid Hotel.

When they got there, they went straight to the bar and ordered themselves a couple of tall, cool iced drinks. They sipped these slowly while they talked about everything they had seen today. At least Quentin did most of the talking; Lucien just smiled and nodded for the most part. Both of them attracted their share of admiring looks, though Quentin only noticed the looks Lucien was receiving. He kept giving dirty looks to Lucien’s admirers until they remembered having urgent business elsewhere and left. When the drinks were gone, Quentin suggested they go upstairs to their room on the sixth floor.

“Yes, I could use a nap before dinner,” Lucien said as he picked up his packages. “Especially if we are going to be meeting Reginald later.”

Quentin left a tip for the bartender before he got up, then gave Lucien a hungry look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to spend the rest of the afternoon doing something besides sleeping?” he asked hopefully.

“No, thank you, _mon cher_. I’m still a bit sore from my fall this morning.”  _*My fall from grace,*_   Lucien thought, his guilt giving him a pain inside that no amount of alcohol could ease.

“Damn that horse! I thought you’d be over it by now. Oh well--” Quentin shrugged. “At least I have a couple of new books to read.”

Lucien smiled apologetically. “Thank you for understanding, _mon cher_.” He turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at his spouse’s trusting face.

********

Later that evening, as Lucien and Quentin sat at dinner in Dionysus’ Vineyard, Lucien found it hard to enjoy his Shepherd’s Pie. He kept expecting Roger to appear at any minute and start signaling him to meet him outside on the terrace. He was determined not to give him that satisfaction.

 _*I shall not let him tempt me again, no matter how persistent he is.*_  Lucien took a hearty swallow of the red wine he had ordered with dinner, a robust Italian vintage that went down very smoothly, with no fruity or bitter aftertaste, then refilled his glass from the decanter.

Quentin, who was savoring his Mediterranean Stuffed Eggplant, noticed how Lucien was just picking at his dinner and drinking a lot more than he usually did.  _*What’s with him tonight? Is he still in pain from his fall? Ever since we got back from riding this morning, he’s been acting skittish. I can’t even kiss him or put my arm around him without feeling him shy away. Yet he walked arm in arm with me while we were shopping and sightseeing. I don’t understand it.*_

Reg White was at his best tonight, playing, singing, and acting the clown, in his white slacks and blue blazer with his astrological sign, Leo the Lion, embroidered in gold on the left breast, with a tiny green jewel for the lion’s eye. His silk shirt was white with blue stripes, while his necktie also sported the sign of Leo. He encouraged the audience to sing along with all his hit songs from the 70’s to the present, of which there were a great many. He graciously thanked fans who congratulated him on his upcoming knighthood next month, which had recently been announced on the news, and laughed aloud at those who made snide remarks about there being more than one queen in Buckingham Palace on June 14th. When his set ended, he cried, “Good night, my dears! I must be off!” and exited stage right over many objections and the sound of thunderous applause. Despite the standing ovation he received, he did not come back for an encore.

Shortly after Reg’s exit, a roadie from his touring company, wearing a white tee shirt emblazoned with “REG WHITE: WHITE NOISE TOUR 2004” in red, came over to Quentin and Lucien’s table. “Excuse me, sirs,” said the good-looking, longhaired young man with a Liverpudlian accent, “but Mr. White sent me to remind you that you’re expected at the party in Ganymede’s Lounge. Here are your passes.” He gave them each a piece of cardboard with a picture of a TV screen filled with snow, or static interference, also marked “REG WHITE: WHITE NOISE TOUR 2004”.

Quentin and Lucien thanked him as they took their passes. The young man then walked away, leaving a trail of admiring stares in his wake, as well as a couple of roaming hands reaching out to pat his blue-jeaned bottom as he passed.

“I must say Reg certainly knows how to pick his employees,” Quentin commented.

“He has always had a weakness for handsome young men,” Lucien reminded him. “Preferably on the muscular side. Have you seen his new bodyguard yet?”

“No, but I’m sure he’ll be a Kevin Sorbo clone like the one before him. Come on, let’s skip dessert and head for the lounge.”

Lucien paid for dinner this time and they set off together for the Ganymede Lounge. Fortunately it was not too crowded yet by the time they arrived. It turned out that Reg had reserved it for the entire night, and it was open only to himself and the band, as well as their road crew and invited guests, and employees of Reg’s recording company, Starship Records. Reg was holding court at a table in the back, closest to the bar and the buffet full of goodies, hot and cold. He was always too nervous to eat before a show, and he hated to eat dinner alone while touring, so everybody in the tour company usually ate dinner with him afterwards.

“Hello, darlings!” Reg greeted them as they approached. “Do sit down and keep me company. I’m longing for some intelligent conversation. That means you can keep quiet, Quentin.”

Lucien laughed at his spouse’s sour expression and spoke up in his defense. “But if he held his peace, the very stones would cry out.”

“I’ve never known Quentin to hold his peace on any topic. But since you insist on dragging him along wherever you go, I suppose I’ll have to make nice, then.” Turning his red head to address the muscular young bodyguard standing behind him (who did bear a close resemblance to Kevin Sorbo), Reg said to him in a voice of doting fondness, “Kenny, darling, could you please fetch me a plate of pasta from that buffet? And bring a couple of desserts for my friends here, too.”

Kenny, whose “White Noise 2004” tee shirt sleeves bulged with muscles, smiled and said, “Sure, Reg.” He turned and walked away, revealing a well-toned butt packed into his jeans that made Reg sigh pleasurably. Quentin nudged Lucien and nodded at the retreating bodyguard as if to say, “What did I tell you?”

Lucien chuckled, but said nothing. When Reg turned back to them, Lucien’s expression was one of polite interest. Reg immediately began to speak to him in French, ignoring Quentin completely. Quentin just sighed and sat back in his chair, a martyred look on his face. After listening to Lucien and Reg speaking French for about three minutes, he suddenly cut in with a remark.

“Just because I don’t speak French as well as you two doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. And for your information, Reg, I am not a complete Philistine! Living with an artist all these years has taught me something about art.”

“Really?” Reg stared at him innocently through the rose-tinted lenses of his red eyeglasses. “And what exactly have you learned, dear boy?”

“That Lucien’s art is like his looks; both improve with age.” Quentin smiled viciously at Reg. “Too bad the same can’t be said about you.”

Reg sniffed disdainfully and quoted from his favorite Monty Python movie. “I fart in your general direction, sir.”

“I wave my private parts at your aunties,” Quentin retorted with a line from the same movie.

Just then Kenny returned with a tray full of food, which he promptly began setting in front of Reg. “The bowtie pasta with red pepper sauce is good tonight, Reg, so I took some for you. I also got garlic bread and salad, and cheesecake for your friends.” He set two plates in front of Lucien and Quentin, each with a generous sized piece of cheesecake topped with whipped cream and a fat strawberry. “For you, I got the Black Forest cake.” He put a plate with a big slice of the chocolate cake in front of Reg.

“Thank you, darling, it looks delicious. Now could you please bring us a bottle of white wine from the bar?”

“Sure.” Kenny went to fetch the bottle, leaving his boss craning his neck to watch his muscle-bound booty walking away. Lucien had to clear his throat loudly before Reg’s dyed red head snapped back in his direction.

“I’m sorry, my dears,” he sighed. “But I couldn’t help myself.” He smiled, revealing the endearing gap in his front teeth that made him look like a big kid. “Look at this disgusting spread!” He waved his hand at all the goodies in front of him. “It just proves to you that I can resist anything but temptation. There are some goodies I simply can’t do without.”

“Yes, I know,” said Quentin with mock sympathy, looking at Kenny’s behind as he did so. “There’s nothing more pathetic than an old queen trying to hang on to his youth. Especially when the youth can run faster than he can.”

Reg made a face at him and said, “Meow!”

Quentin replied with a growl and a hiss. Reg pretended to claw at him with one hand while he yowled.

“Now, now, boys,” Lucien told them. “If you can’t play nice, you’ll have to play outside.”

“He started it!” Reg and Quentin said simultaneously.

Lucien scolded them both into good behavior just as Kenny got back with the wine. As he poured a glass for each of them, Quentin said to Lucien, “Are you sure you want to mix wines like that, my love? You’ve already had three glasses of red wine with dinner, and you hardly touched your food.”

“Well, I’m touching this now,” Lucien retorted, digging his fork into his cheesecake. “You don’t expect me to eat it dry, do you?”

Quentin shrugged and commented, “It’s your funeral.” He dug into his own cheesecake as he added, “Don’t blame me if you wake up with a hangover from too much wine and too little food.”

“Leave him alone, Quentin!” said Reg as he tucked into his salad before starting on his pasta. “He’s a grown man, he can indulge his appetites without your permission.”

Lucien felt another sharp pang of guilt as he remembered what had happened that morning when he indulged one of his appetites. He took a generous sip of the sweet white wine Reg preferred to ease his pain, and then attacked his cheesecake again with renewed vigor.

The four of them, including Kenny (who sat sipping a bottle of Poland Spring water and nibbling on salad while they indulged in their richer fare), ate, drank and were merry for an hour or so. The lounge filled up with people in “WHITE NOISE TOUR 2004” tee shirts, most of whom were only interested in the food. All the regular band members stopped at Reg’s table to say hello to Lucien and Quentin; Reg called over the replacement band members to introduce them to his friends, and tolerated the fawning of a couple of reps from rival recording companies who were trying to woo the pop star away from Starship Records when his contract came up for renewal in the fall. While all this was going on, the level of the wine bottle on the table became lower and lower, until Lucien realized that he had to go to the bathroom.

“Forgive me, my friends, but nature is calling me,” the artist announced as he stood up. “Which way is the restroom?”

“That way, at the end of the corridor.” Reg pointed to his left. “Right past the French windows. You might want to step outside afterwards. A lot of people have been smoking in that bathroom.” He knew how sensitive Lucien was to cigarette smoke.

“I can tolerate a bit of secondhand smoke. But my bladder will not tolerate another minute’s delay. Excuse me, _mon cher_.” Lucien stepped carefully around Quentin’s chair.

“Are you sure you can find your way there alone, Lucien?” Quentin knew from long experience when his spouse was tipsy, and he didn’t want him to stumble or fall on his face.

“Yes, Quentin, I am good to go. You don’t have to follow me to the bathroom like a little boy who is potty training,” Lucien told him sarcastically. He was careful to walk as steadily as possible to avoid revealing how drunk he really was.

He made it to the bathroom all right and was greeted by a cloud of cigarette smoke when he opened the door. Coughing a little, he managed to find an empty stall so he wouldn’t have to stand at any of the urinals, where all the smokers were congregated. After answering Nature’s call, he flushed, made sure he was zipped up, then emerged and washed his hands at one of the sinks. The smoke was so thick, he couldn’t help coughing. The smokers just kept talking and laughing as they puffed; some them even talked louder so they wouldn’t have to listen to this reminder of what they were doing to their lungs. Lucien got out of there as quickly as possible, giving one last hearty cough as he left, hoping it would make them feel guilty.

On his way back, Lucien paused by the French windows, which had been left open on this balmy spring night. He inhaled the fresh night air with great sighs of relief. His head began to clear of both smoke and wine fumes, making him feel more alert. Just as he was about to head back to Reg‘s table, he heard someone outside whisper his name.

“Lucien!”

The startled artist looked left and right, and saw only tall green bushes on either side of the red brick path outside the French windows. “Who is it?” he said softly. “Where are you?”

“It’s me, Roger. I’m over here.” Roger emerged from behind the bushes at Lucien’s left, wearing a dark blue cotton sweater over slate blue slacks, helping him blend into the shadows of night. He raised his right hand and beckoned to him. “Come outside, Lucien,” he said in a low voice, pitched only for the artist’s ears. “I want to talk to you.”

Lucien shook his head determinedly. “No, I have nothing to say to you.”

“Lucien!” Roger hissed, a look of anger appearing on his handsome face, “Come outside! Or so help me, I’ll follow you inside and make such a scene you’ll have to call Security to throw me out! How will you explain that to Quentin?” This was a low blow; he knew that Lucien was too much of a gentleman to risk a public scene, and he certainly wouldn’t want Quentin to know about his indiscretion.

After a cautious look over his shoulder to make sure that he was unobserved, Lucien stepped outside the French windows into the night. He walked to the end of the red brick path and stood face to face with Roger, his black leather jacket and black slacks helping him blend into the shadows as well, making it difficult for either of them to be seen from the open French windows. “All right, Roger,” he said softly, looking up at him defiantly over his folded arms, “what do you want?”

“I only want to be with you, Lucien,” Roger told him softly, seductively. “You know that,”

“Didn’t you hear me tell you earlier today that I wanted nothing to do with you?”

“You don’t mean that, Lucien. I know you want me, as much as I want you.” Roger reached for the smaller man to take him into his arms.

Lucien stepped back to avoid the embrace. “Stop it, Roger!” he hissed, hiding his fear behind his anger. “When I say no, I mean no! Must I tell you in French to make you understand?”

Anger clouded Roger’s face again. “Don’t play with me, Lucien!” he warned him, keeping his voice low but with a definite undertone of menace. “I’m not going to let you use me and throw me aside like that! I told you I wanted more from you and I intend to get it!”

“Or you will do what?” Lucien asked calmly, keeping his arms folded tightly across his chest so that Roger couldn’t see him trembling. He had no intention of being blackmailed into anyone’s bed and was prepared to use force, if necessary, to prevent it.

Roger’s angry blue eyes met the defiant hazel ones before him, and he realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to coerce Lucien into bed. So he changed his tactics and tried noble sacrifice instead. With a melancholy sigh, he said, “If this were the 19th Century, I would challenge Quentin to a duel for you. But after seeing his temper last night, I think it might be dangerous for both of us if he found out about our little tryst on the riding path this morning.” He reached out to touch him gently on one shoulder. “I don’t care what he does to me, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Then leave me alone,” Lucien told him firmly, though he made no effort to shrug Roger’s hand off his shoulder.

“I can’t do that, Lucien. You’re like a fever in my blood. I want you to want me too. But I can’t do that if I make you hate me. So I promise not to tell Quentin anything.” Roger ran his hand down Lucien’s shoulder to his arm, while gazing earnestly into his eyes. “All I want is for you to spend some time with me. Not tonight, but tomorrow or the next day. Find a way to get Quentin out of the way for an hour and meet me up in my room, 9E. Just one hour, Lucien!” he pleaded, looking as pitiful as he knew how. “If I could just spend one hour with you, it would be enough.”

Lucien was touched by the romantic idea of slipping away from his possessive spouse for an hour to meet his new lover, but the small, still voice inside him warned him not to give in. Remembering what had happened the last time he ignored this inner voice strengthened his resolve. “But what if it is not enough for you, _mon ami_? What if, instead of curing your fever, it only makes it worse? No, I am sorry, Roger. I cannot see you anymore.” He started to turn away, only to be yanked back by Roger’s now determined grip on his arm.

“Damn you, Lucien!” he said in a hoarse, angry whisper, his piercing blue eyes looking down into startled hazel ones. “You’re not walking out on me a second time!” He pulled him into a rough embrace and kissed him hard.

The bearded lips pressed against his muffled Lucien’s protests. He was frightened and aroused at the same time, and didn’t know how he should respond. Should he resist or give in? As Roger’s arms tightened around him, he felt his treacherous body beginning to respond to his rough wooing, and it shamed him to realize that he could be so easily swept off his feet by this man. As for Roger, who had no shame, he couldn’t be blamed for resorting to caveman tactics to win his mate. He was used to dealing with older men who were submissive by nature and easily intimidated. Unfortunately for him, Lucien was not one of them.

Fortunately for Lucien, his late father had been a member of the French Resistance during World War II, and he had taught both of his sons how to defend themselves. Especially his sensitive, artistic younger son, once he saw which way the boy’s sexuality was leaning toward. Even though he was a devout Catholic, he had never once told him that homosexuality was a sin, and thanks to France’s Code Napoleon it wasn’t a crime. He had simply accepted his younger son for who and what he was, with a father’s love, and had made sure that he would be able to defend himself against those who didn’t have such an accepting attitude toward gays.

So when Roger tried to lift him up into his arms, Lucien managed to get both hands loose and clapped them on either side of Roger’s head as hard as he could. That startled Roger into loosening his grip. Lucien then pulled away from him and gave him a good, hard kick, aimed at his crotch. It missed, but got him in the thigh and was hard enough to knock him on his ass.

“Keep your hands off me, _cochon_!” Lucien swore at him in French. “When I say no, I mean no!” He turned and stalked back into the lounge, his back stiff with indignation.

Roger lay there nursing his dignity for a few minutes before realizing that he had blown it. How could he have made such a major mistake, treating Lucien like some timid queen? He was a man, with a man’s pride, and deserved more respect. He scrambled to his feet and limped to the French windows. “Lucien!” he called hoarsely. “Come back, please! I’m sorry!”

He saw someone peeking around one side of the French windows at him. He couldn’t see who it was very well; between the bright lighting inside and the near darkness outside, it was hard to tell. But he thought it was Lucien, so he called to him anxiously. “Lucien?”

Quentin stepped through the French windows and smiled at Roger sardonically. “Surprise,” he said, before he decked Roger with a single punch.

For the second time that night, Roger Wilkins fell on his ass. Quentin glared down at him and yelled, “Stay the hell away from Lucien!” Then he left.

Feeling his sore jaw, Roger decided it was time to retire to his room and rethink his strategy. He hoped that Lucien had managed to get away before Quentin had seen him re-entering the lounge through the French windows; he hated to think what would happen to him if Quentin saw them together. _*How much did he see?  How much does he know?  Dear God, what if he turns on Lucien?*_   All he could do was pick his sore body up and limp back toward the hotel lobby, praying that Lucien would be all right.


	15. Fallout and Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by Slasherfem. Focuses on Lucien, Quentin and Reg White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter contains violence that might be disturbing to some. Proceed with caution. The violence is necessary for the progression of the story, however.

LUCIEN, QUENTIN, AND ROGER

When Lucien got back to Reg’s table, he found Reg and Kenny there, but Quentin’s seat was empty. “Reg, where is Quentin?” he asked his friend.

Reg, who was stroking one of Kenny’s muscular biceps and smiling at him like an infatuated high school cheerleader at the star football player, managed to tear himself away from his bodyguard’s charms long enough to answer Lucien’s inquiry. “Oh, there you are, Lucien! I told Quentin you’d be back any minute, but he insisted on going after you. You probably passed each other in the crowd.”

Lucien turned cold inside as he realized what this meant. _*What if he passed the French windows just as Roger and I were talking? If he saw Roger grab and kiss me, he’s sure to get the wrong idea!*_ “Do you remember when he left?” he managed to ask calmly.

“Oh, a few minutes ago,” Reg answered carelessly. “ I wasn’t looking at my watch, you know. I have more interesting things to look at.” He smiled at Kenny, who smiled back and flexed the bicep Reg was holding, causing him to go “Ooh!” and sigh ecstatically.

Annoyed with Reg for not keeping better track of Quentin, Lucien prepared to go look for Quentin himself. But that’s when Quentin appeared, striding through the crowd impatiently as his head swiveled back and forth, looking for Reg’s table. “Quentin!” Lucien called as he waved to him. “Over here, _mon cher_!”

Quentin saw him and hurried over to the table. “Where have you been?” he scolded. “I was looking all over for you!”

“Why? You knew I was going to the restroom. Why didn’t you wait for me here?”

“I got worried when you didn’t come back. I thought you had passed out in the bathroom!”

Lucien rolled his eyes and gave a harassed sigh. “ _Mon Dieu_! The man thinks I am incapacitated by a few glasses of wine!”

“Well, something kept you away longer than usual!” Quentin said accusingly, looking at him as if daring him to deny it.

Realizing that his encounter with Roger had taken longer than he thought, Lucien improvised an answer based upon the truth. “Oh, very well! If you want to know the truth, I was choking on the cigarette smoke in the restroom, so I stopped by the French windows for a breath of fresh air, and this drunken man accosted me. He simply would not take no for an answer. I had to be very firm with him. I just hope I did not hurt him too badly.”

Quentin remembered what he had seen outside the French windows when he went to look for Lucien; his spouse, standing very close to Roger Wilkins, who was holding him by one arm and whispering something to him. Lucien had whispered something back and turned to go, only to be pulled back and kissed by Roger. Quentin hadn’t been able to hear what they were saying, but it certainly looked as if they had been planning an assignation. He had been so shocked, he had stumbled down the corridor and collapsed against the wall, midway between the restroom and the French windows, to collect himself. So he had not seen Lucien fight his way out of Roger’s embrace and knock him down.

When Quentin had gotten control of his feelings enough to look back, he had seen Lucien re-entering the room through the French windows. And when he had crept forward and peered into the darkness outside, he had seen Roger stumbling toward the window and calling Lucien back frantically, probably to beg for another goodnight kiss. A vicious sense of satisfaction filled him as he remembered knocking Roger on his ass and telling him to stay the hell away from Lucien. He had certainly nipped that little assignation in the bud! Now how was he going to deal with his errant spouse?

“ _Mon cher_? Are you all right?” Quentin suddenly realized that he hadn’t said anything for a while and Lucien was regarding him with concern.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, dear. Just a bit concerned over you, that’s all.” He gave Lucien a phony smile of sympathy. “See what happens when you drink too much and wander into public restrooms by yourself? You’re lucky that man didn’t take advantage of you.”

Lucien sighed impatiently. “Must you constantly accuse me of misconduct because of other men’s behavior toward me? I assure you, I was not ‘asking for it’. Nor did I encourage it. I put him in his place and got out of there as quickly as possible.” He remembered how satisfying it had been to hit Roger and kick him hard enough to knock him off his feet. _*What a pity I did not get him in the crotch! Well, he should still be in enough pain not to bother me for a while.*_   He felt proud of himself for having resisted temptation and regretted not being able to tell Quentin the whole truth. But Roger had been right; Quentin was too jealous and possessive to handle the truth. Better to let him think he’d fended off a drunk’s advances.

“Yes, I’m sure you did.” Quentin managed to say this without a trace of sarcasm while doing a slow boil inside at the memory of the kiss he’d seen Roger give Lucien. _*So you didn’t ask for it or encourage it, did you? I sure as hell didn’t see you fighting to get away from him! Just you wait till I get you upstairs!*_  Quentin kept a smile pasted on his face while his hands unconsciously curled into fists at his sides.

At that moment, Reg tore himself away from Kenny’s manly charms to urge his friends to sit down and have another drink. That was when he noticed Quentin’s forced smile and clenched fists. Reg had been in show business long enough to know when someone was putting on the charm to impress others. He had also survived a miserable childhood with a very macho father in the Royal Navy, who did everything he could to “straighten out” his sensitive, musically-inclined son, before his fed-up wife finally divorced him when their son was fourteen. So Reg had an almost feminine intuition for singling out people who could be dangerous to him and his gay friends. Right now his intuition was screaming at him that Quentin could be dangerous.

 _*Quentin is angry with Lucien. Not just jealous, but angry. So angry he might do something stupid.*_  Fearing for his fellow artist, Reg jumped up from his seat and spoke very loudly, to be heard over the sound of the party music and the happy crowd filling the lounge. “Oh, Quentin! Lucien! Now you’re both back, we can really have some fun! Let’s go in back and play some pinball on my favorite machine! Or we can watch a movie together. What do you say to ‘Monty Python and The Holy Grail’? Or ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’?”

“Some other time, Reg,” Quentin told him, still with that phony smile on his face. “I think it’s time we retired. Someone has been drinking a little too much tonight and I want to make sure he doesn’t get into any further trouble.”

“To what trouble are you referring, _mon cher_?” Lucien demanded. “I have done nothing tonight to be ashamed of.”

 _*That’s because you have no shame, you miserable French whore!*_ Quentin thought viciously. “Come, come, Lucien,” he said lovingly, “I’m only trying to keep you safe from further unwanted advances. Let’s go upstairs, now.”

“Oh, very well.” Lucien gave in to avoid further nagging. Turning to Reg, he reached across the table to take him by the hand. “I am sorry to leave you so soon, Reginald, but it seems I shall have no peace until I let Quentin tuck me in for the night.”

 _*If you leave with him now, he’s liable to rock you to sleep with a real rock!*_   Reg thought fearfully. “Oh, do you have to go so soon?” he said with a pout. “Please stay a little bit longer, Lucien! It’s been ages since we hung out together and I do miss your company. Don’t say good-night yet, please!” He clasped Lucien’s hands in both of his as he spoke, while signaling him frantically with his eyes. _*For God’s sake, Lucien, get a clue! Don’t leave with Quentin yet! Not till I find out what’s making him so mad at you! Please, please don’t go upstairs with him!*_

Lucien looked puzzled at his friend’s vehemence; Reg was gripping his hands so tightly and looking at him in such a worried way. He wondered if Reg and Kenny had quarreled while he and Quentin were gone and now Reg was afraid of being alone with him. Glancing at Kenny’s handsome, not-too-bright face, he decided that Kenny couldn’t possibly be the reason why Reg was so upset. Perhaps it was Quentin he had argued with and he now wanted to keep Lucien up as long as possible to spite the other man. It would be just like Reg to do something so petty; he really enjoyed ticking off Quentin when he could. “No, _ma belle ami_ , I’m afraid we cannot oblige you tonight,” Lucien told him apologetically. “Perhaps tomorrow night. You are here all week, are you not? And it is only Tuesday. Good night, Reginald, enjoy your party.” He leaned over and gave Reg a kiss on the cheek, squeezing his hands affectionately, and then turned to his spouse. “All right, Quentin, let’s go. Do say good night to our host, will you? Just to prove you are not a complete Philistine.”

“Good night, Reg,” Quentin said, with a cheerfulness as forced as his smile. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the rest of the night without us.” He looked pointedly at Kenny before putting his arm around Lucien’s shoulders and escorting him out of Ganymede’s Lounge.

“What’s wrong, Reg?” Kenny asked when he saw how Reg kept following his friends with his eyes until he lost sight of them in the crowd.

“Oh, nothing, dear boy, nothing. I’m just worried that Quentin might be in a bit of a bad mood tonight. Would you be a dear and keep an eye out for Lucien? If he comes back here looking for me, don’t ask questions, just bring him to me immediately. Immediately, Kenny, do you understand?”

“Sure, Reg.” Kenny had never seen his boss look so worried. Then again, he was an artist and they were known to be sensitive types. So sensitive you had to be careful not to hurt their feelings, especially when you were sleeping with them. Kenny wasn’t very bright, but he knew which side his bread was buttered on, and he wanted to be sure there was plenty of bread and butter in his future.

“Let’s go in back and play some pinball,” Reg said abruptly. “Tell Pete I want to watch a movie later on. Whoever wants to watch with me can join me in the Red Room beside the bar.” He headed for the back, following closely by his bodyguard, trying to ignore the churning in his gut that kept telling him he should have insisted that Lucien stay here tonight.

 

********

 

As they took the elevator up to the sixth floor, Lucien noticed that his spouse was unusually quiet. This put him immediately on the alert.  _*Uh-oh, the calm before the storm. He’s angry about something, but what? That I took too long coming back from the restroom? But that’s absurd! I already gave him a reasonable explanation for that!*_ Looking at Quentin’s stony-faced expression, he sensed that his spouse was already beyond reasoning with. His heart sank as he pictured the screaming fit Quentin would invariably throw the minute they were behind the closed door of their hotel room. Sighing inwardly, he resigned himself to the inevitable and braced himself to endure all the yelling, screaming, thrown objects, curses and insults.

The elevator door opened; the long walk down the red-carpeted corridor to Room 6E seemed much too short tonight. Lucien dug out his key card and used it to open the door, restraining the impulse to shut and lock it in Quentin’s face.  _*Just let him scream his head off and get it over with,*_ he told himself. _*After all, he hasn’t killed you yet.*_

The moment the door closed behind them, Lucien turned and found Quentin staring at him with angry eyes. “So, did you enjoy your breath of fresh air by the French windows?” he asked sarcastically.

“Very much,” Lucien replied calmly. “At least I did until I was interrupted.”

“Ah, yes, by that drunk who accosted you. Just how drunk was he? How drunk are you, to think I’d believe a story like that?” Quentin demanded.

“Quentin, _mon cher_ , please do not start,” Lucien pleaded. “I do not wish to fight with you tonight.”

“I supposed you’d rather we just go to bed, then? So you can sneak out as soon as I’m asleep and go running to meet him!”

“To meet whom?”

“You know who I mean! Roger Wilkins!” Quentin yelled.

“Roger Wilkins?” Lucien said innocently, as he felt his heartbeat speed up with shock and fear.

“Don’t play innocent with me! I saw you together outside the lounge! I know what was going on! You two are planning a rendezvous later, as soon as you can get away from me! Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” Quentin screamed in his face, forcing Lucien to take a step backward.

“Quentin, don’t be absurd! I am not meeting Roger Wilkins tonight, or any night.”

“Were you or weren’t you kissing him outside the French windows? Come on, lie to me!" He grabbed Lucien by the arms and shook him. “I dare you, lie to me!”

“ _He_ kissed _me_!” Lucien blurted out. “I did not ask him to! I rejected him immediately! Did you not see me reject him?”

“All I saw was you and him together, whispering and kissing!“ Quentin shook him like a rag doll as he yelled in his face. “And you weren’t exactly fighting him off!”

“But I did fight him off!” Lucien protested in vain. “How could you have missed it?”

“I saw enough! What else have you been up to with him? Tell me!”

“Nothing, I swear!” Lucien began to panic and struggled to free himself from Quentin’s grip.

“Don’t lie to me, you French whore!” Quentin gave him a hard slap across the left cheek.

Lucien was stunned, not by the blow, but by the fact that it was Quentin hitting him. Quentin, who had never laid a hand on him in anger during all the years they had lived together! As he staggered back, Quentin grabbed him by the front of his thin sweater and pulled him up close, getting right into his face.

“So _he_ kissed _you_ , eh?” Quentin sneered, glaring down at him. “And you let him, didn’t you? You miserable French whore!” He slapped him again on the same cheek, which started to burn with pain.

“Quentin, stop! Please, listen to me!” Lucien pleaded as he struggled to escape.

“Why should I believe a word you say, you fucking French whore!” Quentin hit him again on the other cheek, this time with a closed fist.

“Quentin, stop! Please stop!” Lucien felt as if he were in a waking nightmare as he tried to get away from his enraged spouse. _*This can’t be happening! This can’t be Quentin who is hitting me!*_ He was so accustomed to thinking of Quentin as his lover and protector, he had never imagined him as an abuser. That was why he made no attempt to defend himself; he just couldn’t bring himself to hit Quentin.

But Quentin didn’t share his reluctance. Once he started hitting him, he just couldn’t stop. He punched him two more times before Lucien finally threw up his arms to cover his face. Then Quentin began punching him in the stomach. It seemed as if he was venting all of his pent-up rage and jealousy on Lucien’s body, as he pummeled him for his infidelity.

It didn’t take long before Lucien fell to the floor, the plush green carpet doing little to cushion his fall. He fell on his left hip and landed on his back, hurting both in the process. Quentin fell on top of him and kept punching him in the stomach, until Lucien felt as if he was going to vomit. Then Quentin stopping hitting him and started unfastening his pants.

“We’ll see whose whore you are!” he told him furiously as he unbuckled Lucien’s belt and undid the clasp of his slacks.

When Lucien realized that he was about to be raped--really raped, not just the rough sex play they had in the shower after one of their contrived quarrels--he forgot it was Quentin attacking him and remembered what his father had taught him long ago. The first thing Lamont Le Barre had taught his young sons before their first day of school was how to protect themselves from unwanted attention from a much older and taller opponent, boy or man, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. So as Quentin was trying to pull down his zipper, Lucien managed to get one leg up and jabbed his knee right into Quentin’s crotch.

As Quentin howled in pain, Lucien sat up and shoved him backwards. Then it was Quentin’s turn to sprawl on the green-carpeted floor, holding his aching crotch as Lucien got to his feet and ran for the door, ignoring the outburst of profanity that followed him.

He made it through the door and ran down the corridor to the elevator. When he got there, he pushed the button, waited fearfully for a few moments, then realized that Quentin might recover and come after him at any moment. So he pushed through the exit door to the stairs, making sure the door didn’t slam so that Quentin, if he were following, wouldn’t know he had escaped by this route.

He ran down one flight of stairs and got out on the fifth floor, running down the corridor on swift, silent feet to the exit on the opposite side. His heart was pounding, his right eye was beginning to swell, and his face, hip and stomach were all hurting, but he kept on running. When he got to the end of the corridor, he hit the door running and proceeded to run down the remaining five flights of stairs, all the way to the lobby.

He emerged at lobby level and ran for the closest shelter, a public restroom. Once inside, he went into the nearest stall and bolted the door. Fortunately there was nobody else in the restroom, so he didn’t have to answer any awkward questions. He sat down on the lidded toilet to catch his breath, wondering what to do next.

 _*What shall I do? Where should I go? I can’t go back to the room while Quentin is in this state. He almost raped me! He hurt me, too. Why would Quentin hurt me?*_   He touched his sore eye and flinched at the pain. _*It’s not fair he should treat me this way, after I spurned Roger for him. I turned down a handsome, younger and more cultured man for him, and this is how he pays me back. Ungrateful beast!*_

His anger burned as hot as his battered face felt, until he remembered what had happened on the riding path that morning. Then the flames of his anger were doused by guilt. _*If he knew what I had done this morning, he would have every right to be angry. He would have every right to hit me, too. I deserve it, for acting like the whore he called me.*_   Lucien felt a tear escaping from his undamaged eye. He wiped it away impatiently.

 _*Get a hold of yourself! You are not a whore! You do not charge for your favors and you do not give them away to any man who asks. You were swept away by passion this morning, but you resisted it this evening. If Quentin can’t appreciate that, he doesn’t deserve to know about what happened this morning. So you won’t tell him,*_   Lucien decided. _*If he knew, he would beat you again for sure. Now where can you go to avoid another beating? Who can you trust to help you?*_

The first person that came to mind was Reg White. But Lucien rejected him immediately. _*He’s the first person Quentin will go to when he starts looking for me. I won’t involve Reg in my domestic disputes. That is no way to treat a friend.*_   He got up and opened the stall door, peered out cautiously to make sure the room was still empty, then went to the nearest sink to examine his battered face in the mirror above it.

 _*Mon Dieu! What has he done to me?*_   Lucien stared at his reflection aghast; his face was red, swollen, and sweaty, his right eye was rapidly turning black. His stomach still hurt from the blows it had taken, and his left hip and butt were sore from the impact of his fall.  _*Imagine how much worse the pain in your ass would be if he had succeeded in raping you!*_   he reminded himself. He set about cleaning himself up, running the cold water in the sink, washing his face, drying it gently with the plentiful paper towels the hotel provided.

 _*Now what?*_   he wondered as he threw the towels away and rearranged his clothes, making sure his slacks were zipped before he refastened his pants and his belt buckle. His white sweater was the worse for wear, all stretched and crumpled up in front, and there was dust on his black leather jacket. He took it off and ran a damp paper towel over it to restore some of the leather’s shine. As he shrugged himself back into it, he made up his mind what to do.

 _*Roger. I must go to Roger. He is the reason why I am in this predicament. The least he can do is give me shelter for the night, or what is left of it. Anything is better than running to Reginald with my problems.*_  He looked at his battered face in the mirror again and wondered if Roger would still find him so desirable in this condition, and if he was still angry at him for knocking him on his ass earlier. _*Well, Quentin knocked me on my ass too, so we are even. I must swallow my pride and go to him. He is my only hope of refuge.*_   So Lucien Le Barre squared his shoulders and left the restroom to seek shelter with the lover he had rejected earlier that evening, hoping that he wouldn’t hold a grudge.

 

******** 

 

Teddy, the night clerk at the registration desk of the Pyramid Hotel, was a tall, thin, brown-haired fellow in his thirties who had seen it all, or so he thought. Wearing the hotel’s blue blazer over his favorite French Vanilla shirt and cream-and-gold tie, he sat humming a tune to himself as he filled out a list of wake-up calls for the morning clerk. He didn’t see Lucien until the Frenchman leaned against the registration desk and said, “ _Pardone moi,_ could you please tell me Roger Wilkins’ room number?”

When Teddy looked up at him, his gold-framed eyeglasses almost fell off as his brown eyes opened wide with shock. “Oh, my goodness! What happened to you, sir?” Teddy asked, staring at Lucien’s battered face. “Were you mugged? Would you like me to call Security?”

“No, thank you, just tell me my friend’s room number. His name is Roger Wilkins. I know he is on the ninth floor, but that is all I remember.” Poor Lucien was terribly embarrassed by the night clerk’s reaction to his face. He just wanted to get out of sight before anyone else showed up.

Teddy turned to his computer, called up the registration roster for the ninth floor and went down the list of room numbers that were currently occupied until he found “Wilkins, Roger”.

“Here he is, sir,” he told Lucien. “Roger Wilkins, Suite 9E.”

“9E,” Lucien repeated. “Thank you.” He turned away, headed for the elevator banks.

Seeing how painfully he dragged himself along, Teddy felt sorry for him and called out, “Sir, are you sure you don’t want me to call Security? To arrest whoever did this to you?”

“No, please. I just--” Lucien paused, one hand pressed to his sore stomach as a wave of nausea came over him. “I just want to get to my friend‘s room.”

“What about the hotel doctor? You really look like you could use some medical attention, sir.”

“That is not necessary,” Lucien told him as politely as he could, through he longed to tell him to mind his own business. “Just do me the favor of not telling anyone you saw me tonight. No one, do you understand?” Lucien managed to straighten up and look him in the eye as he said this, a determined expression on his battered face.

“I promise I won’t tell a soul, sir,” Teddy assured him.

Lucien gave him a slight smile as he said, “ _Merci beaucoup_.” The elevator doors on the right side opened on an empty car and he dragged himself inside. As those elevator doors closed, the ones on the left side opened and Quentin Rogue came out.

Quentin came right up to the registration desk and spoke belligerently to the night clerk. “You there! Did you see anyone down here earlier? An older gentleman in a black leather jacket, white sweater and black slacks?”

Hearing him describe Lucien so accurately and seeing how flushed and angry he looked, Teddy put two and two together and realized that this was a domestic dispute. Such things were not uncommon among gay couples. But he wasn’t about to break the promise he had made to Lucien, so he looked right at Quentin and lied. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t see anyone like that down here tonight.” Teddy’s fingers were firmly crossed below desk level as he silently asked God’s forgiveness for lying.

“Are you sure no one came down to the lobby tonight?” Quentin demanded. “Perhaps someone walked by while your back was turned?”

Teddy shook his head. “No, sir, I can assure you that no one who comes through this lobby goes by me unseen. If the gentleman you described came down here, he didn’t go through the lobby.”

“Then where would he go?”

“Into any one of the restrooms, restaurants or stores we have at lobby level, sir. The ones that are still open, that is. Or perhaps he left the hotel from the rear fire exit.”

Without a word of thanks, Quentin ran off, heading toward Ganymede’s Lounge. Teddy heaved a sigh of relief to see him go and hoped that the older gentleman had reached his friend’s room and found refuge there by now.

 

 ********

 

Up in Suite 9E, Roger Wilkins sat nursing his third glass of scotch on the rocks, along with his wounded pride. He wasn’t used to being rejected by any of the older men he targeted. Even the non-famous ones who didn’t paint, sculpt or take photos usually enjoyed being a patron of the arts. They acquired this title by frequenting Roger’s gallery and buying art from him on a regular basis, either while they were pursuing him or after he had let them catch him. His gallery had remained solvent for the ten years he’d owned it due to the indulgence of these older gentlemen. Only after losing a valuable piece of art to a rival bidder back in ‘96 had he gotten the idea of going directly to the source to acquire art for his gallery.

So when Marlin Brandt, the surrealistic artist, had come into the Wilkins Gallery to attend a friend’s showing, Roger had made sure he was as gay as rumor claimed him to be before making a move on him. It had been easy to set up a date with him, even easier to seduce him while letting him think he was doing the seducing. It hadn’t been easy avoiding Marlin’s wife, though; when she had found out about Roger, the ensuing divorce had cost the artist almost everything he owned. By that time, Roger had acquired most of his best paintings. He’d salved his guilty conscience by selling the paintings at greatly inflated prices and understating the prices on his income tax return so he could give the difference to Marlin. At least the poor old geezer hadn’t died broke.

Roger had made sure the next artist he targeted didn’t have a wife. Sam Sterling had been a widower for twenty years and actively gay for nineteen of those years when their paths had crossed. He had been easy to seduce; lonely and estranged from his grown children, who didn’t approve of his lifestyle, he’d been both thrilled and grateful to have a handsome young man like Roger in his bed. Roger had made sure he was very attentive to the aging artist, slowly taking over all his business affairs until Sam was living under Roger’s roof, in his own private studio, turning out paintings like an assembly line to show his gratitude to his “darling boy” for livening up his golden years. When he died, he left everything to Roger, much to his children’s dismay.

Of course the three Sterling sons had sued to get their inheritance back, claiming undue influence. But thanks to their unfilial neglect of their father after his coming out, Roger had been able to prove he was entitled to all of Sam’s money and art just by being there to look after him and keep him company, while his three sons were “too busy” to pick up a phone or send more than a token Christmas card every year.

So the Wilkins Gallery had thrived for the last ten years, due to its owner’s good looks and charm, and his penchant for picking out rich, aging men as his intimate companions. And he had never felt a moment’s guilt about it--until tonight.

 _*Lucien, Lucien. Where did I go wrong? How could I be so stupid, treating you like some timid old queen who’d be so grateful for my company you’d do anything for me?*_ Roger sighed as he stared into the depths of his drink. _*I never thought I’d actually fall in love with one of my meal tickets. But I think I’m falling in love with you. If only I could see you again and prove to you how much I really care. If only Quentin doesn’t punish you for being with me tonight. What if Lucien tells him about what happened on the riding trail?*_ Roger began to sweat as he pictured Quentin’s wrath and the way he’d get even with Lucien. The artist had already proven that he wasn’t weak, but he was so much smaller than Quentin. How did he know that violent temper of his in public wasn’t a hint of even worse behavior in private? He could have been abusing Lucien for years…

An urgent knock on the door roused him from his reverie. Warily, he put down his drink and strode quickly to the door. “Who is it?” he said harshly, immediately on the defensive.

“Roger, _c’est moi_ \--Lucien,” came the soft-voiced reply outside the door.

“Lucien?” Roger’s heart leaped at the sound of his voice. He quickly unlocked the door and flung it open. “Lucien!” he cried joyfully.

“Roger, help me,” Lucien whispered before collapsing into his arms.

A startled Roger pulled him inside, shut the door, then carried him over to the bed, where he laid him down gently. Lucien moaned as Roger took his bruised and swollen face between his hands and examined it closely.

“Did he do this to you?” Roger demanded, meaning Quentin.

“Yes,” Lucien said softly as he stared at the ceiling, too ashamed to look right at him. “Roger, he knows. He saw us outside the lounge tonight. He saw you kissing me. He didn’t see me reject you. He thinks we were planning to meet later. As soon as we were alone in our room, he accused me of it. Then he hit me.” A tear fell from his uninjured eye as he turned his head on the pillow, exposing the black eye. “He hit me again and again, Roger. Quentin has never hit me before.”

Roger looked at his injured face and thought of how he’d like to get Quentin into a headlock and punch him in the face again and again. “What else did he do to you?” he demanded, his voice raw with emotion. “Do you want me to call a doctor? How badly did he hurt you, Lucien?”

“Not as badly as he wanted to,” Lucien told him with a sob. “But it was bad enough. He called me a whore, Roger. He kept calling me a whore while he hit me in the face. Then when I covered my face, he hit me in the stomach. He knocked me down on the floor and he still kept hitting me. He even tried to rape me, to prove I was his whore alone. If I had not kneed him in the crotch, he would have done it.” Lucien wept with shame.

Now Roger wanted to knock Quentin down and kick him in the crotch until his testes exploded and his penis was so mashed it was too painful to pee through, let alone rape anybody. He was so angry, he was on the verge of running out to find Quentin to do all this and more, but in the midst of his anger he heard a small, still voice telling him that if he hadn’t lured Lucien outside the lounge tonight, none of this would have happened. It was all his fault that Lucien was lying here, weeping and in pain. Overwhelmed by guilt and pity, he set about looking after Lucien as best he could.

He went into the bathroom and rinsed out a washcloth in cold water, then filled it with ice cubes from the bucket he had filled for his drinks. Wrapping the washcloth around the ice, he put it on Lucien’s black eye as a cold compress. “Hold that on your eye while I look at the rest of your injuries,” he told him. Lucien complied, his sobs gradually diminishing while Roger moistened another washcloth with cold water. He used this one to dab at Lucien’s face, to bring down the swelling. When he was done, he held the cold compress over Lucien’s uninjured eye, which was swollen from weeping.

“It’s okay,” he told him soothingly. “You’re not bleeding. Your face is going to be bruised and puffy for a while, but it will heal. At least you won’t have any scars. Now, can you lie quiet while I look at your stomach?”

Lucien agreed meekly and lay there with his eyes covered while Roger gently pulled his sweater out of his slacks. He had to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his slacks as well, but he asked Lucien’s permission first. Then he had to ask him to raise his hips so he could pull down his slacks. Lucien complied, trusting Roger not to inflict any more pain on him tonight, since he’d been so kind to him so far.

When Roger pulled the slacks down far enough to expose Lucien’s stomach, he saw it was covered with black and blue bruises. The sight made him angry all over again. _*If I ever get my hands on that son-of-a-bitch Quentin, I’m going to leave some bruises on him that will make these look like a child’s skinned knee!*_   Out loud he asked, “Can you stand it if I put some medicated ointment on these? Or would you rather just have a stiff drink and some aspirin?”

“I would welcome the drink and the aspirin,” Lucien told him. “As for the ointment, could we just put some on my eye?”

“Okay, let me get ‘em all for you.” After getting out his little plastic aspirin container and the tube of Neosporin + Pain medicated ointment he kept for injuries, he poured a glass of brandy for Lucien and set them all on the bedside table by the clock-radio, which now read 1:48 A.M. “Can you sit up and drink this? Or would you like me to help you?”

“I can do it myself, thank you,” Lucien told him with great dignity as he set aside the compresses and sat up gingerly. He winced at the pain in his hip and back, but refrained from mentioning it as he reached for the brandy. He took a healthy swallow while Roger took out a couple of aspirin from the container. He offered the little white pills to Lucien, who took them with a word of thanks. “ _Merci_.” He swallowed them with the brandy, which he finished with a sigh of satisfaction.

“Sounds like you feel better already,” Roger teased him.

“Yes, brandy does have that effect on me.”

“Have some more. It’ll help you sleep. You can have the bed tonight, I’ll sleep on the chaise lounge.”

Lucien looked at the diminutive couch in the hotel suite and then looked worriedly at his rather tall friend. “That lounge looks much too small for you. I should be the one who sleeps on it.”

“You’re injured. You’ll sleep better on a real bed. Don’t worry about me, I’ve slept in smaller spaces when I was camping out.”

“You have slept under the stars, then?”

“Yes, many times,” Roger told him as he refilled his glass. “Just my horse and me, in whatever space was big enough to accommodate us both.” He didn’t mention the fact that he’d shared his sleeping bag with another man on more than a few of these camping trips. “I’ll go in the bathroom and get ready for bed while you undress out here. Don’t worry about me bothering you tonight. The way you look, I’m afraid I might break you if I held you in my arms.”

Lucien gave him a look of gratitude, but made no move to undress until Roger was in the bathroom. Then he drank his second drink quickly and finished removing his pants, shoes and socks, along with the leather jacket and stretched-out sweater. It was a bit painful to stand up, but he had to do so in order to drape his clothes over the easy chair near the bed. He parked his shoes and socks by the bedside, then slid under the covers in his briefs. He was just settling down when Roger came out of the bathroom, wearing a light blue set of pajamas. These were the “shortie” kind, with knee-length pants and short sleeves.

“How are you doing?” he asked Lucien, pausing by the bed on his way to the chaise lounge.

 _“Bien, merci._ Are you sure you want to sleep there tonight?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry about me, just concentrate on getting well. Which reminds me, I’d better put this stuff on your eye.” He picked up the tube of Neosporin+Pain and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Here, sit up and let me get at that eye.”

Lucien sat up carefully; his hip and back were still a bit sore, but the pain was bearable now. He kept the sheet and blanket pulled up to cover his naked, hairy chest and tried not to notice how Roger’s chest kept showing through the low-cut pajama top he wore.

Roger squeezed a bit of ointment on his right index finger then leaned close to Lucien, focusing on his black eye. He applied the medication gently, dabbing it onto the discolored eyelid and the skin beneath it. “There you go,” he said softly as he dabbed at the eye. “That should help it heal faster. Do you want a fresh cold compress to put on it?”

“No, thank you.” Lucien sounded a bit breathless; he was self-conscious at being so near to a semi-dressed Roger while in a state of undress himself.

“You sure you don’t want some of this on the rest of your bruises?” Roger just wanted an excuse to keep touching him; he longed to hold him close, to console him for the injuries he felt responsible for him getting.

“No, that will not be necessary,” Lucien hurriedly assured him. “I think I can sleep well enough tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll leave the aspirin here on the bedside table, in case you need them during the night.” Roger put the tube of ointment down by the plastic aspirin container, to show him where it was. “Good night, Lucien.” He hesitated before getting up, saw the way that Lucien was looking at him and gave in to the temptation to hold him. He put his arms around him and hugged him gently, to spare his bruises.

Lucien clung to him, feeling his good eye beginning to tear up again. “Don’t make me go back, Roger,” he pleaded. “Please don’t make me go back to him.”

“I can’t let you go back to him. He’ll abuse you again. You’re staying with me, damn it!” Roger told him determinedly. “I’m taking you home to Aspen.”

“Thank you. I will try not to be a burden on you.”

“It’s no burden looking after you. It’s a pleasure. Now go to sleep.” Roger gave him a kiss and got up quickly, so he wouldn‘t be tempted to lie down with him. “Good night, Lucien.” He grabbed a pillow off the bed, turned off the bedside lamp and managed to find his way to the chaise lounge in the dark. Once there, he put the pillow down at one end, then lay down, folding up his long legs so he’d be more comfortable.

After lying there for a few minutes, he started to feel chilly as well as cramped. So he decided to get an extra blanket out of the closet. He got up and walked quietly toward it, but paused to look at Lucien along the way. He saw the other man was now fast asleep, lying face up with the covers pulled up to his chin. The black eye made him look so vulnerable, he longed to lie down with him and hold him close.

 _*Take it easy,*_ he told himself. _*There will be plenty of time for that in the future. As soon as his injuries heal, you can hold him as much as you like. And when you take him home to Aspen, you can hold him every night forever.*_ He looked forward to having Lucien in his bed for the rest of their lives together, however long that might be. He and Sam had only spent four years together before Sam’s last fatal heart attack. But Lucien was a lot younger and healthier then Sam had been. There was no reason why he shouldn’t go on living and painting under Roger’s roof for years to come, once Quentin was out of the way.

 _*It will be my pleasure to make sure the bastard doesn’t get a penny of Lucien’s money. He’s going to pay dearly for what he did to him tonight, in more ways than one.*_ Roger nodded to himself in satisfaction, then went and got the blanket from the closet and headed back to the chaise lounge. On the way, he stopped to look at Lucien again. The desire to hold him was so strong, he had to look away as he reminded himself again that there would be plenty of time to hold him after his injuries healed.

It was a shaky Roger who finally laid down on the chaise lounge and curled up beneath the blanket, only to be troubled by dreams of him and Lucien making love for the rest of the night.


	16. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by PetLeopard56. Focus is Storm Garner and Victor Haze. Reg White is showing up too.

“THE LETTER”  
By Pet Leopard

 

STORM AND VICTOR

_“I got a letter just the other day,_  
_Telling me that he was on his way.”_  
_The Supremes, “Ain’t That Good News”_

'A picture is worth a thousand words’… Storm Garner sighed as he sat in the coffee shop thinking to himself. He clenched the photograph tightly in his left hand, concentrating intently on it. With his right hand, he ran his thumb and index finger through the thickening hair under his chin. He then turned his eyes to the caricature on the pad. For all these years, I wondered about who this man was and he was right here all along. Storm stuffed the picture into his pocket and took a slow sip of his coffee. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice the approach of the man who was coming towards him. 

“Is this seat taken?“ a familiar, British-accented voice asked. Storm looked up, completely taken by surprise. He stared into the well-rounded face of Reg White. Reg was performing this week at Dionysus’ Vineyard. Everyone loved Reg. He entertained, he mingled and he brought in customers. At this midmorning hour, he was most likely just coming out of his room to have breakfast. Reg always was a late sleeper. This morning, he was wearing a red silk shirt, clean, white pressed pants, a clean pair of blue dress socks and a pair of imported, well-polished black shoes. His short, red hair was well combed. His trademark rose-tinted sunglasses seemed to match the color of his shirt. As he approached Storm, he smiled broadly, thus exposing a little gap between his front teeth. 

Storm looked up quickly, noticed Reg and then sighed aloud.

“Jeez, Reg !! You scared the living daylights out of me! Next time, don’t sneak up on me like that!!” Storm gestured abruptly to Reg, pointing at the seat next to him. Reg nodded courteously and sat down carefully. As Reg was sitting down, Storm quickly folded up the pad that contained the rough draft of Victor’s caricature and put it on the floor next to him. 

Reg shook his head, as he looked Storm over. “Tsk, tsk, dear, I hate to say it, but I know some straight people who dress better than you look this morning. Whatever is the matter, darling? You usually dress so well.” As Reg was talking, he motioned in the general direction of a tall figure who was standing near the counter. He was Reg’s bodyguard, Kenny, a tall, muscular beauty, who was the image of masculine perfection. His long, sandy hair was carefully combed. Reg looked adoringly as Kenny’s tight black running shorts, which hugged his sexy body. To complement the pants, he wore a tight, white muscle shirt, which exposed his bare midriff and sexy navel, as well as outlining the well developed muscles of his abdomen. Kenny walked towards Reg, carrying a cup of cappuccino in his left hand and a clean paper napkin in his right hand. Even Storm, who was obviously preoccupied at the moment, had to admit to himself that Kenny’s perfect figure was certainly easy on the eyes. Reg nodded as Kenny deposited the cup and the napkin in its proper place, next to Reg. 

“Oh, thank you, darling. You can go to breakfast now.” Kenny nodded and walked back towards the counter, where he would be able to watch Reg from a reasonable distance without disrespecting his privacy. 

Reg took a sip of his coffee and turned towards Storm. “He is a dear, isn’t he?” Reg asked, with a note of mischief in his voice.

Storm rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Yeah, whatever.“

Reg shook his head and reached out to pet Storm’s hand. “My, my, someone’s in a mood this morning.” 

Storm abruptly withdrew his hand. He knew that his old friend Reg was just being playful, but he did not have time for such nonsense now. “Listen Reg, I’m sorry if I’m not myself. I have some things on my mind right now.” 

Reg’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly. “Is there something that I could help with, perhaps?”

Storm sighed and took a quick sip of his coffee. But then his expression changed ever so slightly, as he came to realize that there was a chance that his old friend could be helpful. After all Reg circulated with people. Everybody trusted him. Storm‘s smile broadened as he realized that he might be able to use Reg‘s social position to his own advantage. 

His posture relaxed a little bit. He folded his hands in front of him and put his head on top of them, striking a very thoughtful pose. “As a matter of fact, Reg, perhaps you could help me out. One of the reasons why I hired you is because you’re a people person. You know how to schmooze. So if I asked you to tell me something about someone, you would be able to help me out--right, old friend?”

Reg’s expression changed to that of puzzlement. “Storm, I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

Storm laughed to ease the tension. “Oh, now, it’s no big deal. I’m just doing a routine check on the people who work here. Matt was telling me the other day that there was a guy from the IRS here. His name was Brunt, or something like that. He was getting on everyone’s ass. One of the people who he was checking up on was this guy named Haze, I believe. You know, Pierce’s business partner?”

All of a sudden, Reg’s face became serious and every trace of a smile disappeared from his face. “Victor Haze?”

Storm’s voice suddenly became fully animated. “Oh, so you do know him? You know, Reg, you could really help me out if you could tell me a few things about him. You know, things like where he came from, how he got into business with Pierce…stuff like that.”

A long and awkward silence followed, which was very unusual for Reg. He looked toward the floor and thought about what he was going to say. When he finally made eye contact with Storm, Reg’s expression was quite different. His brow was wrinkled. His face was tense and he looked at least five years older than he did a few minutes ago. When he spoke, his voice seemed to convey a tone of sadness. 

“I know his family. We go way back. He’s been through a lot of bad stuff, Storm. You know, I really can’t tell you very much else. “ Reg started to get up. “If you’ll excuse me, now…”

Storm put his left hand on Reg’s arm, holding him firmly in place. With his other hand, Storm reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph and put it in front of Reg’s face. Reg took the photo and quietly sat down again. In less than a moment, Kenny had his hand on Storm’s arm and firmly freed Reg’s arm from Storm’s grip. He gave Storm a threatening glare. Reg turned to Kenny.and whispered to him in a reassuring voice: “It’s okay, darling. I can handle this.” Kenny understood, nodded his head and slowly backed away. He growled at Storm warningly before he returned to the counter. 

Storm was the first to speak. “Reg, let’s not play games now. I don’t mean him any harm. I just feel that I have a right to know the truth. You understand, don’t you?”

Reg didn’t say anything, but he took out his pen and scribbled some words on the back of a paper napkin. He looked at Storm and talked to him in a low voice, which was barely above a whisper. 

“I really shouldn’t be telling you this. You would learn the most about Victor from watching him perform. He plays guitar at a local club in the neighborhood. He’s scheduled to play tonight at eight o’clock. . Here’s the address.” He handed Storm the napkin. 

“I hope that you find what you ‘re looking for. Be careful, Storm.” Reg said in a serious voice. Before Storm could respond, Reg got up from the chair and left. In another moment, he and Kenny were out of the room. 

Storm looked at the address that was written on the napkin and put it into his pocket. Mentally, he was already planning out his route of travel to the club. He picked himself up slowly and picked up the sketchpad that he left near his chair. He now possessed a new sense of resolve as he walked towards his office. 

He walked through the mall, through an assortment of small shops and into a narrow corridor. At the end of the hall, there was a combination lock with five buttons. Storm punched in a three-digit code. He opened the door and entered a group of private offices. It was actually a series of large cubicles. 

The last cubicle was the largest. It was the office of Matt McGuire, Storm’s personal assistant. It was the neatest and cleanest of all the other small offices. Every paper, rubber band, clip and memo was arranged in order. 

Today, Matt was working in Storm’s office, which was adjacent to the neat cubicle. Storm quietly walked into the office and observed Matt at work. He was sitting at the desk as he was working at the computer and filing papers at the same time. As usual, his young assistant was dressed to impress. He wore a blue pin-striped suit with a finely pressed white dress shirt and pink tie. His black shoes were well polished and shiny. His short, dark hair had a certain wavy quality to it this morning. He looked up as Storm entered the office. Quickly, Matt stood up in a gesture of respect. 

He smiled widely. “Oh, sir, I didn’t expect you so soon. Are you feeling better?”

Storm nervously ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Yes, Matt. I’m okay. Listen, when Pierce Allen comes into work, ask him to come and visit me in my penthouse room. I’ll be there until about six this evening and then I’m going out for a few hours.”

Matt nodded cheerfully. “Yes, sir. As soon as Mr. Allen comes in, I will personally escort him to your penthouse room. 

Storm nodded his head. “Thanks, Matt. See you later.”

“Oh, sir…” Matt’s voice had a trace of anxiety in it as he spoke.

Storm turned around slowly and looked at his assistant. He responded with a hint of impatience in his voice. “Yes?”

“I just thought that while you were here, you might want to pick up your mail. I have a new system, where I arranged everything in alphabetical order.” Matt handed Storm a neat pile of mail, which contained at least ten different letters of varying sizes. It was tied together in a very organized manner. As Storm accepted the pile of mail, he started to walk out the door. 

“Thank you, Matt.” He was almost through the door, when he heard Matt’s voice behind him. 

“When you have a moment, sir, I’d like to show you the new software system that I installed. It improves work output by 51.4%.

“Some other time, Matt. Thank you. “ He was out the door and on the elevator before the kid could say another word. Storm remembered with sadness when he himself was young and fresh. Unlike this kid, he had to work hard to get everything that he got. Nothing was handed to him on a silver platter. Perhaps it was Storm himself who was behind the times. This kid had management potential. Storm knew that he should treat the kid a little better. Someday he would be able to. After all, Jonathan would have wanted it that way. 

The elevator arrived at the penthouse floor. Storm put his keycard into the lock and the door opened. Although the room was pretty much in the same shape as he had left it before, for some reason it did not feel quite as cold and dark as it did before. Storm poured himself a drink. He looked for a pair of scissors to open the stringed package of mail. After all, he did have some time before he had to get dressed to go to the club. He found the scissors on top of his cluttered desk. He used it to cut the string open. As Matt had promised, every letter was in alphabetical order. 

Storm shook his head impatiently as he threw out one piece of junk mail after another…a few advertisements…a couple of personal cards, letters and invitations from old friends and a strange, unidentifiable letter at the bottom of the pile. The letter had no return address. The envelope was addressed with old typewritten print. It was not of the size or style that Storm had ever seen. The envelope itself was a pale lavender color. 

He was curious. Impulsively, he tore open the seal and removed the letter. It looked like a birthday card; it was also lavender, with gold lettering on the outside that said “Happy Birthday“. Carefully, he opened it. Perhaps it was from one of Jonathan’s old friends, who didn’t know he was dead. However, as he read the card, his heart beat faster and his complexion turned pale. A dead monarch butterfly was pinned to the card, with a black-headed pin. The typewritten inscription below revealed the horrifying words in big block letters:

“DEAR JONATHAN:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IN HELL! STORM WILL BE JOINING YOU THERE REAL SOON!”

On to Chapter 18


	17. Moving Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Slasherfem. Focus on Lucien, Quentin, Reg and Roger

“MOVING OUT”  
By Slasherfem

 

LUCIEN, QUENTIN, REG AND ROGER

At 3:00 a.m., Lucien Le Barre lay fast asleep in a warm bed, quiet and untroubled, until he started moaning and twitching. Then he began tossing and turning, throwing his arms up over his head as if to shield himself from blows. He whimpered, thrashed around with his arms and legs, and then cried out loud. “No, Quentin! Stop! Please stop!”

Roger Wilkins awoke and sat up quickly on the chaise lounge, looking around frantically in the dark. For a few seconds, his sleep-fogged brain thought that Quentin Rogue was there in his suite, attacking Lucien. When he realized that Lucien was having a nightmare, he went over to the bed and woke him gently. “Lucien, Lucien! Wake up! Come on, wake up!”

Lucien woke up and saw Roger standing over him. “Oh!” he gasped. “Roger! Thank God it’s you!”

“Yes, it’s me.” Roger lay down beside him and held him in his arms. “You were having a nightmare, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Lucien shivered. “I dreamed I was back in our hotel room and Quentin was beating me again. This time I couldn’t get away when he wanted to rape me.” He clung to Roger, shivering like a frightened child. “He raped me, Roger,” he whispered fearfully “It hurt so much. He wouldn’t stop, even when I begged him to. He hurt me so much, Roger.”

“It was only a dream,” Roger told him while holding him close. “He can’t hurt you now. I won’t let him hurt you.” He kissed him and spoke soothingly to him until Lucien stopped shaking and fell asleep in his arms. This time Roger stayed in the bed with him for the rest of the night.

 

********

 

Lucien woke up again at 6:05 A.M. to find himself alone in bed. He heard the shower running in the bathroom and knew that Roger wasn’t far away, so he relaxed. As he lay there, watching the morning sunlight creeping through the blinds on the opposite side of the room, he thought about what he was going to do now that his life had fallen apart.

_*Only yesterday, I had a home with a man I loved. Today I am homeless. But I still have a man to love. And he seems to love me. He took me in last night and cared for me after I fled from Quentin. He told me he wants to take me home with him, to Aspen. I’m not sure I want to go. After all, the apartment in New York is in my name, even if I don’t want to live there. But of course I want to live there, I just don’t want to live there with Quentin.*_

Lucien turned over in bed and lay on his right side, favoring his sore left hip. _*On the other hand, I don’t want to leave Quentin homeless. He’s been my spouse in all but name for the last thirty years. I can’t just throw him out.*_

An angry voice inside him asked: _And why not? He beat you, insulted you, and accused you unfairly of infidelity. If he had come upon you and Roger on that riding path, he would have had the right to be angry. But getting angry just because he saw you talking together was the height of absurdity! He deserves to be homeless! And penniless too. Living off of you all these years, making no attempt to get a real job…_

Lucien punched the pillow angrily.  _*That does it! I’m calling my lawyer and telling him I’m going to throw the bastard out! He’ll dig out that cohabitation agreement we signed back then, before prenups became fashionable. And he’ll see to it that Quentin gets exactly what we agreed on, no more, no less. If he dares to ask for more, I’ll file charges against him for assault. Too bad we were never really married; then I could divorce him for spousal abuse and keep everything.*_

That was when the small, still voice inside him spoke up. _You loved this man enough to live with him for thirty years. You owe him something for all the time you spent together._

Then Lucien felt ashamed of himself. _*Yes, just because Quentin acted like a prick doesn’t mean I have to. Take the high road; give him the apartment and enough to live on. Roger’s already offered me a new home in Aspen. I can always move in on a trial basis. I just hope I like it there.*_

Roger emerged from the shower at that moment, wearing a short, white terrycloth bathrobe. Seeing him made Lucien think he could easily get used to living in Aspen. “How are you this morning?” Roger asked with a smile.

 _“Bien, merci.”_ Lucien sat up in bed cautiously. The pain in his butt and hip had greatly diminished and he seemed to be able to see out of both eyes. But he still needed his eyeglasses, as well as a change of clothing and other personal articles that were still in the hotel room he shared with Quentin. “If you are finished with the shower, I should like to freshen up.”

“Of course. I’ll loan you one of my shirts, this sweater looks wrecked.” Roger was examining the clothes Lucien had hung over the back of the easy chair last night. “You’ll have to roll the sleeves up a bit.”

Lucien nodded and got up slowly. He was wearing his black designer briefs, but still felt a bit self-conscious walking past Roger near nude like this. He tried to walk briskly, but the pain was still bad enough to make him limp.

Roger saw him limping and asked worriedly, “Are you still in pain?”

“Just a little,” Lucien lied. “A bit of aspirin will clear it up.”

Roger nodded, looking grim. “Okay, then. Go wash up, Lucien. We need to talk about what we’re going to do next.”

Lucien nodded and went into the bathroom, still limping. Roger resisted the temptation to take him by the arm and guide him there. He knew that if Lucien wanted his help, he would ask for it.

Soon both of them were dressed and sitting on the chaise lounge, side by side. Lucien had come up with the beginnings of a plan and was trying to persuade Roger to go along with it. “But are you sure you can trust Reg White?” asked Roger, clad in designer jeans and blue polo shirt, as he applied the Neosporin + Pain Relief cream to Lucien’s black eye. “I thought he was a friend to you both.”

“Well, he is more my friend than he is Quentin’s, because we are both _artistes_ , you see. And you can always count on Reginald to help a friend in need.” Lucien, wearing last night’s outfit minus the jacket and sweater, fussed with the overly long sleeves of the red pullover Roger had loaned him, rolling them up neatly above his wrists. “We are going to need his help in order to get my things out of the room. The problem is, where will I take my things and myself afterwards?”

“Move in with me,” Roger urged him. “I’d love having you here.”

“I would love being here, _mon ami_ , but if I am going to 'divorce' Quentin, I must appear to be the aggrieved party.” Lucien finished adjusting his sleeves and folded his sensitive hands in his lap as Roger kept dabbing at his eye. “We both agree that his attack on me last night was unjustified, no? He accused me of planning to sneak out to meet you. So, as far as he is concerned, you and I have never been together until last night, when I was forced to flee to you after he drove me out of our room.”

“Yes, I see,” said Roger, nodding. “So if he finds out that you and I have actually been together before last night, he’ll be the aggrieved party. He’ll probably demand a larger settlement than the one agreed on in your cohabitation contract.”

“I would be very surprised if he didn’t. You see why we must be discreet? If I move in with you the same day I move out on him, he will have every right to call me a whore.”

“You are not a whore!” Roger said determinedly. “I’ll tell the world I never laid hands on you until last night. And that was just to comfort you. Anyone can see that he’s the one who’s been laying hands on you.”

Lucien sighed. “I never thought of myself as vain, but after seeing my face in the mirror this morning--well, I was lucky you did not slam the door in my face last night.”

“You don’t look so bad,” Roger assured him.

Lucien snorted. “You are a gallant liar, _mon ami_.  Even if my face were unmarked, I still couldn’t hope to match you for good looks.”

Roger smiled and gently kissed the area above Lucien’s right eye, which was now completely black. The swelling on his face had gone down, but he still had colorful bruises on his cheeks. There were some bruises on the backs of his hands as well, defensive injuries caused when he was shielding his face from Quentin’s blows. Roger thought he looked beautiful despite his injuries. _*I must be in love,*_ he thought, with some bemusement. _*Anybody else would think he looks hideous.*_   Putting the tube of medicated cream aside, he said, “Well, we might as well make the call now. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, I am. Give me the phone.”

Roger handed his cell phone to him. Lucien flipped it open and dialed the front desk. “Hello, may I please speak to Reginald White? This is Lucien Le Barre.”

There was a brief pause while the desk clerk checked the list of names Reg’s manager had given him of people whose calls the star would accept. After finding Lucien‘s name, he said: “Yes, sir, I’ll put you through. Please hold on.”

Moments later, Lucien heard Reg’s voice saying anxiously, “Lucien? Lucien, dear, are you all right?”

_“Oui, Reginald. Je suis bien.”_

“Oh, thank goodness! Where are you, darling? Are you somewhere safe? Quentin came back to the lounge last night looking for you, not twenty minutes after you left. He was in such a temper! Yelling and screaming, pushing people around, demanding to know where you were. He was like a wild man! I knew I shouldn’t have let you two leave last night. I sensed that he was angry with you about something, and that he was liable to blow up in your face the moment you were alone.”

Lucien sighed. “Yes, you were right.” He gave Reg a brief, edited description of last night’s events, mostly in French, leaving out the part where he knocked Roger down. Roger held his hand during the bad parts, when he was describing the beating and his embarrassment at asking the night clerk for Roger’s room number.

Reg kept letting out little shrieks of horror as he listened to Lucien’s sad story. Finally he said, “Enough, darling! You’ve got to get over here and let me give you shelter. You can’t possibly go back to that man now!”

 _“Merci, mon ami._ Just tell Mario that I am coming--with a friend,” Lucien added, squeezing Roger’s hand.

“Is this the same friend who took you in last night?”

“Yes.”

“All right, bring him along. I’ll let Mario know. Do be careful coming up here, darling! Heaven only knows where you’ll run into Quentin!”

“I will be careful, Reg. _Au revoir_.” Lucien ended the call, snapped the phone shut and handed it to Roger. “We must go, _mon ami_. Reg is expecting us.”

Roger nodded; they rose and walked to the door of the suite together. When they got there, Roger insisted upon opening it and looking outside first, scanning the corridors on the left and the right. Seeing no one else around, he took Lucien’s hand and led him to the elevators. He made Lucien stand behind him while they waited for an elevator. When the one on the right opened, it had a couple of men in it. Roger made sure that neither of them was Quentin before he let Lucien go inside.

As they rode up to the thirteenth floor, he kept Lucien by his side, one arm draped protectively around his shoulders. The elevator doors opened two more times to let people on and off; each time, Roger kept his eyes on the men coming in, ready to thrust Lucien behind him at any moment. Lucien was extremely nervous about running into Quentin, but he hid it well. He could feel the tension in Roger’s body, too, as the taller man held him close to his side.

When they got to the thirteenth floor, Mario Silvane was waiting to greet them. He was the head of Reg’s private security, a nice Italian boy from New York, short but muscular, wearing a red beret and a “WHITE NOISE TOUR 2004” tee shirt in red. He greeted Lucien politely and escorted him and Roger to suite 13F, the most lavish one on the floor. Two more red-shirted boys were posted outside the door. Mario knocked twice and opened the door, leading Lucien and Roger inside.

The door had barely closed behind them when Reg appeared, still in his yellow silk pajamas and blue dressing gown, with Kenny close behind him in black running shorts and white muscle shirt. When Reg saw Lucien’s bruised face he let out a shriek, ran over and threw his arms around him.

“Oh, my God! Lucien, what did he do to you? Oh, my dear, my dear! Does it hurt? Let me get you a doctor!”

“No, no, it’s all right, Reg.” Lucien returned the frenzied hug affectionately. “It looks worse than it really is, I assure you.”

“Just tell me what you want done to him, my dear,” Reg said earnestly. “I’ll send Mario and a couple of his boys after him, if you like.”

“No, _mon ami_ , I want you to stay out of it,” Lucien told him firmly. “Aside from a small favor I would like you to do for me today. Afterwards, you must try to remain neutral while I settle things between me and Quentin.”

“But how are you going to do that, darling?” Reg regarded him worriedly through his rose-tinted red glasses.

“Well, to start, I need to get my things out of that room. That is where you come in…” Lucien allowed Reg to lead him to the breakfast buffet set out on the balcony while they talked. Roger trailed behind, along with Kenny and Mario.

 

********

 

At 8:38 a.m., the phone rang in 6E, where Quentin Rogue lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t slept well last night; he kept having nightmares in which he saw himself beating up the man he loved. He had gone looking for him after the fight, when he was finally able to move after the jab in the crotch Lucien had given him, thoroughly ashamed of himself for losing his temper; he just wanted to find Lucien, apologize to him and bring him home. But he hadn’t been able to find him. So when the phone rang, he bounced up off the bed and grabbed it.

“Hello?” he said hopefully.

“Good morning, Quentin,” came a familiar voice. Unfortunately it was Reg White’s British accent, rather than Lucien’s French one. It sounded rather frosty, too. “I understand you and Lucien had a bit of a falling out last night?”

Quentin groaned. “Oh, God! I suppose he’s already told you everything?”

“As much as he was able to tell me, despite all the pain he was in. Really, Quentin, how could you?”

“Don’t start on me, Reg! I’m already ashamed of myself for losing control like that. Is Lucien with you? Could I speak to him, please?”

“No, not right now. He’s in seclusion, darling. Don’t ask me where, it’s a deep, dark secret. But he did say that he was willing to meet you on neutral ground to discuss the matter. Can you get up here in fifteen minutes?”

“In your suite? That’s hardly neutral ground, Reg!”

“It’s the only place where he feels safe, darling. Take it or leave it.”

Oh, all right!” Quentin threw back the covers and stood up in his red boxer briefs, running his free hand through his curly, dark hair. “Let me put something on and I’ll be up there in fifteen minutes. And I hope you have the decency to listen to my side of the story, as well.”

“All right, darling. See you in fifteen minutes.” Reg ended the call, closed his cell phone and turned to Lucien, who was sitting across from him on the balcony eating an almond croissant with coffee. “He’s on his way up. You have time to finish your breakfast before he gets here. Then you can go down to your old room and get your things. You still have your key card on you?”

Lucien nodded. “Yes. Do you still have an empty suite on this floor?”

“Of course, darling! I always keep a spare room for guests on tour, ever since John Lennon, God rest his soul, dropped in on me during his Lost Weekend period and needed a place to crash. I was so glad when he finally went back to Yoko and gave up the booze. It was ruining his creativity. You’re welcome to stay in my spare room for as long as I’m here. After I leave, of course, you’re on your own.”

“I’m sure I can afford to add it to my credit card. But I have no intention of paying for the room I originally checked into beyond this week. If Quentin wishes to stay here after Saturday, he’s going to have to pay for it himself.”

“That’s right, darling! Make him pay his own way from now on! I hope the apartment in New York is in your name, along with everything else?”

“I’m willing to let him have the apartment, as long as I get to take everything that is mine from it.”

“You’d better get there first, then,” Reg warned him. “I wouldn’t put it past him to throw your things away or destroy them, just to spite you.”

“If he does, I will take it out of his settlement. Palimony is not the same as alimony, as Quentin will learn before very much longer.” Lucien finished his croissant and washed it down with the coffee. Pushing the cup aside he declared, “All right, I am ready. Roger?”

“Coming.” Roger swallowed the last of his omelet, dunked a fragment of toast into his coffee cup and ate that too, then stood up, brushing crumbs off his blue polo shirt. He followed Lucien from the breakfast table to the door of Reg’s suite, as Reg trailed after them anxiously.

“Do be careful, Lucien! I’ll try to keep Quentin here for as long as possible, but I recommend you get in and get out as quick as you can.”

“I shall be quick. Fortunately I travel light, so there is not much for me to pack. I just need Roger along to carry a few things I bought yesterday.” He smiled fondly at Roger.

“That’s right,” said Roger cheerfully. “I’m not too smart, but I can lift and carry heavy things for long distances.”

“So can I,” Kenny said from behind Reg.

“That’s nice, darling,” Reg told his hunky young bodyguard. “You can take me out jogging later. After we’ve run a couple of miles, you can tuck me under your other arm and bring me back here.”

They reached the elevators. Mario was already in position with his walkie-talkie. After listening intently for a few moments, he said, “Okay, boss, my boy says that Quentin is just leaving the room now.”

“Thank you, Mario. Make sure your boy stays with Quentin till he gets here. And if he should run into Lucien and Roger, I want your boy to create a diversion so they can get away.”

“I’m on it, boss,” Mario assured him. “I told him to buy a yogurt smoothie and be ready to spill it on Quentin if he has to.”

“Oh, Mario,” Reg sighed. “You’re such a smooth operator!”

Mario just grinned. “I’ll bet you say that to all the boys.”

The elevator on the left opened, revealing an empty car. As Lucien and Roger stepped inside, Reg started fussing. “Now remember, Lucien, don’t dawdle! Get in and get out as fast as you can. When you get back here, Mario will escort you to the empty suite I keep as a guest room. And remember to call me on my cell phone the minute you’re safely inside the guest room!”

“Yes, yes, _mon ami_ , I will remember,” Lucien said patiently. “You had better go back and wait for Quentin now.” The elevator doors started closing as he spoke. Reg jumped back out of the way just in time.

 

********

 

Once on the sixth floor, Lucien and Roger sneaked down the hall like a couple of commandoes in enemy territory. When they got to 6E, Lucien used his key card to open the door. They found the bed unmade and Quentin’s clothes strewn around the room. Lucien had only to repack his things, which were still neatly hung up in the closet or tucked away in the dresser.

After doing a quick sweep of the bathroom, Lucien came out with his toilet case containing his grooming aids. He found Roger already locking his suitcase, so he decided to put the toilet case into the same shopping bag as the picture book of the Beatles he had brought yesterday. As he was stuffing the case into the bag, he remembered the blue willow tea set he had brought at East Meets West and looked around for it.

“Are you ready?” Roger asked as he lifted the suitcase off the bed.

“Not yet. I am still missing something.” Lucien looked beside the bed and under it, even behind it, but no blue willow tea set. He opened the door of the little night table on his side of the bed, but found nothing inside.

“Lucien, we’d better be going,” Roger urged him. “We don’t know how long Reg can hold him up there.”

“One more minute, please. Ah! Now I remember!” Lucien went back to the closet, which was still open, and looked on the overhead shelf. He found the tea set, still in its' brown paper wrapping, pushed to the back of the shelf. He reached for it, but wasn’t quite tall enough to reach it. “Roger, please help me get this down. I cannot reach it.”

“All right.” Roger went over to the closet and peered into the darkness where Lucien was pointing. He reached out and grabbed the brown paper parcel, pulled it toward him--and promptly dropped it! The parcel fell to the floor with a loud crash, as the delicate teapot and cups were smashed by the impact.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Lucien!” Roger looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to drop it! Is it broken?”

Lucien knelt down and unwrapped the brown paper enough to see the damage. “I’m afraid so,” he said sadly, seeing the delicate blue and white porcelain reduced to shards.

“I’m really sorry, love. What is it, a tea set? I’ll buy you another one.”

Lucien shook his head. “It was the only one left of its’ kind. You won’t find this blue willow pattern again at the store where we found it.”

“We can try.”

“ _Non, c’est impossible_.” Lucien gathered up the parcel full of broken porcelain and carefully deposited it into the nearest wastebasket. As he looked down at the ruined tea set, tears came to his eyes as he remembered buying it in Quentin’s company. One thing they had both enjoyed was drinking Asian teas, green or Jasmine, whenever they ordered in Chinese food. Seeing the tea set in ruins like this was like seeing his whole life with Quentin hopelessly shattered, with no chance of repairing it.

 _*But why would I want to repair it? I am leaving him and our past behind. It is over and done with, finished!*_  So he told himself bravely as he turned away. “Let’s go, Roger. We are finished here.” He picked up the bookstore bag and looked around the room to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind.

Roger could see how upset he still was. He put his arm around him and hugged him. “I’m really sorry, love. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Lucien nodded and headed for the door with Roger holding him comfortingly. _*It’s only a tea set. I didn’t even have a chance to use it before it was broken. Now I never will. Neither will Quentin*._   Why was he crying at the thought of never drinking tea with Quentin again? The man was an overgrown spoiled brat, with no manners or refinement. He was much better off with Roger. He kept telling himself that as they walked away from his past and hopefully toward a future together.

 

********

 

When they got back to the 13th floor , they found Mario waiting for them. “Got everything?” he asked Lucien, seeing the suitcase Roger carried and the shopping bag in Lucien’s hand.

“Yes, of course. Surely you don’t think I want to risk going back there?” Lucien said impatiently.

“I’d be willing to send him back with you, if you needed to make a second trip.” Mario jerked his thumb at a young red shirt standing nearby, the one who had been ordered by Mario to follow Quentin upstairs. “But it’s just as well you don’t need to go back. Reg is a great listener, but even he can only keep Quentin talking for so long.”

“All right, then. Show us to Reg’s guest room and be done with it.”

Mario led them down the corridor past Reg’s suite. Lucien couldn’t hear any voices from outside, but he could picture Quentin pouring his heart out to Reg, complaining of Lucien’s infidelity, cursing him and Roger for leading him astray, while Reg kept nodding and offering him tea and sympathy--or coffee and croissants, more likely.

 _*It would be just like Quentin to stuff his face while he is complaining; he always overeats when he is upset.*_   Dismissing his soon-to-be-ex-spouse from his thoughts, Lucien followed Mario to 13I, which turned out to be a generous suite much more lavish than the room he’d shared with Quentin, and that room certainly hadn’t been any broom closet.

“Here you go, Lucien,” Mario said as he ushered him in and put the key card in his hand. “This is the only key card to this door. If you want another for your friend here, you’ll have to get Reg’s permission. He’s fussy about who he allows on this floor.”

“Well, so would I be,” Lucien remarked, “if I could afford to rent the entire floor of a hotel! _Merci,_ Mario.”

“You’re welcome. Now I think it’s time we let Reg know you’re back.”

Lucien looked nervously at the door of the suite to make sure it was closed. Seeing Roger’s imposing self in front of it also gave him additional reassurance. “Very well. Where is the telephone?”

 

********

 

Reg White sat silently in his chair on the terrace, his manicured hands steepled over a cup of coffee that was rapidly going cold on the table before him, as he listened patiently to Quentin Rogue telling him his version of the events of last night. Though he appeared to be sympathetic to Quentin’s tale of woe, inside he was longing to tell Quentin what a fool he was.

When Quentin stopped talking to stuff his face with strawberry Danish, having eschewed the delicate croissants, Reg was finally able to get a word in edgewise. “Your timing really stinks, old boy. You came along just in time to see Roger forcing a kiss on Lucien. But you left before you saw Lucien reject him.”

“I didn’t leave!” Quentin told him. “I was right outside the whole time!”

“Yes, but did you actually see everything that occurred?” Reg sipped his coffee, made a face at the tepid liquid and pushed it aside. “Lucien and Roger both told me that he rejected Roger and shoved him aside before he went back inside. I’m leery of accepting Roger’s word for anything, since I don’t know him. But I do know Lucien, and I believe what he tells me, ‘cause he’s never lied to me before. Has he ever lied to you?”

“No, he’s always been truthful with me as well,” Quentin reluctantly admitted.

“Then why didn’t you believe him when he said there was nothing going on between him and Roger?” Reg demanded.

“I saw the way Roger was looking at him in the restaurant! If you had been there and seen it too, you would have come to the same conclusion.”

“Was Lucien looking back at him the same way?”

“Yes! He was fascinated by him!” Quentin said through his teeth as he remembered the way his spouse had been looking at Roger as Roger bade him good night.

“Like a bird fascinated by a snake’s stare?” Reg inquired. “Or a mouse fascinated by a cat’s? Neither has anything to do with sexual attraction. This Roger person--I’ve seen his type before. Handsome, charming, full of fun, seems like a good catch. But deep down, he’s more style than substance. If he has stolen Lucien’s heart, I don’t think he intends to keep it.”

“How do you know?” Quentin demanded.

“Oh, come on, Quentin!” Reg said impatiently. “Haven’t I known you and Lucien for the last twenty-eight years? Haven’t you two been living together for two years longer? Do you honestly believe Lucien’s going to throw away thirty years of life with you, just to have a fling with this young hunk? Unless you gave him a good reason?”

Quentin hung his head and looked ashamed. “It’s my fault,” he muttered. “It’s all my fault. I drove him away with my constant jealousy, always accusing him of flirting with other men.”

“Don’t forget the fact that you also beat him up last night,” Reg reminded him.

“I can’t forget! I was up all night remembering it! Replaying the argument in my head over and over, trying to figure out what I should have said and done instead of hitting him!” Quentin sobbed as he ran his hand through his hair in a distraught manner. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting him! I just want him to forgive me and come back to me!”

Seeing him so distraught, Reg’s soft heart pitied him for a few moments. He was almost tempted to tell him that Lucien had moved out of their hotel room and was now staying in the guest room down the hall from his own suite. Then he remembered the black eye and the many facial bruises Lucien was sporting, and the way he limped when he walked. Reg hardened his heart when he remembered these things, which brought back some other painful memories

 _*There’s no way in hell I’m going to give Lucien up to him! Let him cry! It’ll do him good to remember that he’s the one who’s at fault here!*_  Just then Reg’s cell phone rang. He fished it out of his robe’s pocket and flipped it open, then held it to his ear. “Hello?”

He heard Lucien’s voice on the other end. “We are back, _mon ami_. I have everything I need. Now please tell him to go away.”

“All right, darling, I’ll tell him. Good luck!” Reg added softly before he ended the call.

“Was that Lucien?” Quentin asked eagerly.

“Yes, it was,” Reg admitted.

“So when is he going to get here?”

Reg shook his head. “I’m sorry, Quentin. But Lucien’s changed his mind. He doesn’t want to see you, now or ever.”

Quentin looked at him as if he’d just been slapped in the face. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that, Reg! Please tell me you were joking!"

“It‘s no joke, Quentin!” Reg spoke to him harshly, with no trace of sympathy in his voice. “Lucien’s not coming back to you. He just wanted you out of the way long enough to get his things out of your room. And he used me to do it!” Reg sounded angry as he said this, as if he had no idea his old friend had been using him to get back at Quentin. “I’m very sorry, Quentin. But I don’t want to get caught in the middle of this falling out between you two, so I think you’d better leave now.”

“B-But Reg,” Quentin protested. “I thought you were my friend?”

“I’m Lucien’s friend too, dear, and I don’t want to be accused of favoring one friend over another. So I suggest you go back to your room and wait until you hear from me. Or from Lucien. I promise I’ll call you if I should hear from him first.” Reg signaled Kenny, who was stretched out on a lounge nearby. The hunky young bodyguard got up and casually walked over to the terrace’s French doors. He opened the doors and stood there with his brawny arms folded over his muscular chest, looking meaningfully at Quentin.

Quentin looked at Kenny by the opened doors, then he looked at Reg. He saw no sympathy in either of their faces, so he got up and headed for the French doors with a heavy heart. When he got there, he paused to look back at Reg. “Will you give Lucien a message from me?” he asked pitifully.

“Of course, darling. What is it?”

“Tell him I’m sorry I hurt him, and that I still love him. Tell him--” Quentin was almost overcome by tears, but he held them back so he could say his piece. “Tell him if I don’t hear from him by the end of the week, I’m going back to New York alone.”

Reg nodded, his eyes full of sympathy, though his face remained impassive. “Yes, I think that would be best,” he agreed. “Kenny, please show Mr. Rogue out.”

Kenny laid a heavy hand on Quentin’s shoulder and gently but firmly steered him toward the door of the suite. Quentin had no choice but to comply. After they had left, Reg gave a melancholy sigh.

 _*I just hope you know what you’re doing, Lucien. I’d hate to see you throw away a good, sound relationship of thirty years just for some pretty boy.*_   On that thought, Reg picked up his cell phone again and dialed a number in New York City.

A phone rang in the living room of a nice apartment on Central Park West. A tall, pretty woman with short, dark hair and glasses, wearing a white tennis dress, came into the living room.  She stopped to answer the phone, putting her tennis racket down by it before picking up the receiver. “Hello, Andretti residence.”

“Hello, Rene darling! It’s me! How are you?” Reg said to his ex-wife.

“Reggie!” She blew him kisses over the phone. “Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice, darling! How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just fine. Did you get the flowers I sent you for your birthday?”

“Yes, my piano made of flowers arrived right on schedule.”

“And the candy too?”

“Yes, ‘sweets from the sweet to the sweetest,’” Rene quoted the note he’d sent with the candy. “You’re so thoughtful, Reggie. But you really shouldn’t have sent so much!”

“Don’t tell me they were too much, I’m sure there isn’t a single chocolate-dipped strawberry left by now. Is there?”

“No, there isn’t!” Rene admitted with a laugh.

“I knew it! You never could get enough chocolate-dipped strawberries! Now listen, darling, I have a favor to ask of you. Does your husband still work for that private detective agency, Beckett Investigations?”

“Yes, Carl’s just been made head of the New York office.”

“Good, good! Is he at home now?”

“Wait a minute.” Rene put the phone receiver on her chest and yelled, “Honey, are you here?”

A man’s voice answered from the kitchen. “I’m right here, baby, making the lasagna!”

“Yes, he’s home,” Rene told Reg.

“Even better! Tell Carl I’d like to talk to him about a job. I need as much information as he can get about a man named Roger Wilkins.”


	18. The First Cut is the Deepest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Focus is Victor and Storm and Danny Hawkes. Chapter written by PetLeopard56

"THE FIRST CUT IS THE DEEPEST"  
FEATURING: STORM GARNER, VICTOR HAZE, AND DANNY HAWKES  
By Pet Leopard

 

_"I would have given you all of my heart, but there's someone who's torn it apart."_  
_"The First Cut Is The Deepest" by Cat Stevens_

Storm Garner's hands shook as he read the letter one more time. He did not know what he was feeling more, anger, fear or hatred. It didn't matter at this point anyway; he was not able to think rationally. Slowly he walked over to the window; the sun was shining brightly, there was no trace of the morning rain. People were going about their business just as though it had never rained before, just like any other day. Storm had to laugh ironically. They were unaware of the evil and hatred that existed, which had made itself manifest right under his fingertips. 

He walked over to the telephone and dialed the number of the security office. In another moment, he heard it ringing and the call was picked up on the first ring. 

"Security, Danny Hawkes," came the efficient response on the other end. 

Storm took a deep breath before he spoke. He was emotionally weakened by this whole catastrophe. "Hello, Danny. Storm Garner here," he responded with as much energy as he was able to muster. "We have a situation here in my penthouse. Would you please get up here as soon as possible?"

There was a pause on the other end. Danny, with a touch of concern in his voice, said, "Yes, sir. Are you in need of medical assistance?" 

Storm sighed and said, "No, Danny. Just get up here. You'll see what the problem is when you arrive." He hung up the phone and smiled to himself. Danny Hawkes was one of the few people whom he trusted implicitly. The man had a no-nonsense attitude about him; he enjoyed his work, took it seriously and was always available if anybody needed him. 

*****************

 

A few minutes later, Danny Hawkes arrived. He sat in Storm's living room, perusing the letter. He was a young man in his mid-thirties, with sandy brown hair and beautiful blue eyes. Today he was wearing sunglasses, a black shirt and a white blazer with matching white pants. His black shoes were well polished. It was an on-going joke at the resort that Danny Hawkes was their resident Sonny Crockett. Danny took off his sunglasses slowly, folded them up and put them into the breast pocket of his jacket. A moment later, he placed his briefcase on Storm's desk, opened it up and removed a vial of fingerprint powder. He put on a pair of rubber gloves and carefully spread the powder over the letter to dust for fingerprints. Then he took out a large magnifying glass, held the letter up to the light and looked at it carefully.

Storm, in the meantime, was pacing around nervously. He wanted to give his chief of security the necessary space to do his work, but the anticipatory tension was building up so much that he couldn't hold it in much longer. "Well, out with it, man! What is it?" he asked impatiently.

Danny replied slowly, measuring his words carefully. "Mr. Garner," he said in a serious tone of voice, "we are dealing with a professional here. This guy left no trace of fingerprints, no DNA from clothing or hair. This is a thoroughly clean job. Not a trace of anything to draw a conclusion from."

Storm was still pacing around nervously. "What kind of a sick mind would even try to do something like this?" he asked angrily. 

Danny opened his mouth to answer, but before he could answer, the phone rang on Storm's desk. Storm ran over to pick it up, almost knocking down Danny's briefcase in the process. "Storm Garner!" he snapped into the receiver. Danny stood by observing and was able to ascertain that the matter was less of an emergency than either of them had feared. Danny heard Storm let out a sigh, saw him run his fingers through his hair and look up at the ceiling. When he finally spoke, he sounded very angry. 

"Yes, Matt, I understand. I'll try to see him tomorrow. It's no big deal. Listen, kid, don't bother me anymore tonight. We have a major crisis here!" He slammed down the receiver, then turned to Danny and answered the unasked question. 

"That was my assistant, Matt McGuire. You know, sometimes that kid could drive you crazy! All I asked him to do was get a hold of Pierce Allen for me. He just spent three minutes giving me a whole song-and-dance about Pierce's grandmother and how sick she was and how he couldn't possibly see me tonight. And you wonder why I'm such a nervous wreck!" 

Danny took the cue that now was the time to change the subject, so he answered the question that was posed before the phone rang. "Getting back to your question, Mr. Garner, in this part of California there are many gay-bashing groups at large. Most of the problem comes from real estate developers, such as Dean Tripp, who want to scare resort owners like you into selling their property. A lot of other hotel owners were hit with similar threatening letters. Most of the time, from my own past experience, this type of thing is usually a one-shot deal. Is this the first time that you've been threatened?"

Storm thought carefully before responding. "Aside from my own uneasiness that I've felt since Jonathan's death, there have not really been any significant incidents that I can recall."

Danny nodded his head thoughtfully and responded. "I wouldn't worry about it at this point. If there are any other incidents, please let me know." 

Storm sat down in his recliner, thoroughly exhausted, and said, "Thanks, Danny, I feel a little bit better now." After a short pause he turned to Danny again and said in a more friendly tone of voice, "By the way, how's the investigation going on that Nunzio kid?" 

Danny turned his head to the side slightly and let out a little bit of a laugh. Storm picked up on this and, reacting to it somewhat sarcastically, asked him, "Do you find something amusing about this, Mr. Hawkes?" 

Danny wiped the smile off his face and was again all business. "Nothing I can put my finger on, Mr. Garner. There are just some loose ends that I have to tie up. The case is somewhat more complicated than I originally anticipated. Do you mind if I take a little more time?" 

Storm waved his hand from side to side in a gesture of dismissal. "Don't worry about it, kid. Just do a good job, that's all I ask." 

Danny picked up the letter again and looked at it one more time. "Mr. Garner, you don't mind if I take this with me, do you? Downstairs in the office, I have a whole file cabinet of these odds and ends. Someday when I have nothing else to do, I'll try to fit the pieces together and maybe this whole mess could make some sense." 

Storm smiled broadly and said, "Please take it away! You don't know how my stomach has been turning since I got this horrible thing in the mail." 

Danny took the letter, folded it up and put it in his inner jacket pocket. He removed his rubber gloves and put them back into his briefcase, along with the fingerprint powder and the magnifying glass. Storm opened the door for him; as Danny exited, he turned to give Storm some parting words.

"Try to relax tonight, Mr. Garner. Go out somewhere and have some fun. Try to get away from all this stress."

Instead of the response that Danny anticipated, Storm slapped the palm of his hand against his head and yelled, "Holy shit! I have to be out of here in three hours! This bullshit with that letter really threw me off. Thanks a lot, kid. I've got a million things to do!" 

As he was about to close the door, Danny held it open for just one second. "Remember, Mr. Garner, anything even remotely unusual, I want you to report it to me immediately."

Storm said impatiently, "Yeah, sure, Danny, thank you." Before Danny could get in another word edgewise, the door closed in his face. 

A moment after Danny left, Storm looked in the full-length mirror in his bedroom and saw how repulsive he really looked. "Oh, sweet Jesus! So much work to do!" Quickly he stripped himself of every piece of hideous clothing that he was wearing and now stood naked before the mirror. For the first time, he saw how much he had let himself go after Jonathan's passing. So he took out the razor that he hadn't used in so long, lathered up his face and carefully shaved off the beard stubble on his cheeks, leaving his mustache and the beard on his chin untouched. He then noticed how much gray had accumulated on his beard and his sideburns, as well as in his hair. So he rummaged through the medicine cabinet for the packages of "Just For Men" hair coloring that he used on them, and he applied it to the gray areas. 

A few minutes later he washed himself off in the shower and lathered up his body thoroughly. He had to admit that the hot water felt good on his skin; it had been so long since he had bathed. After toweling himself off, he combed his long hair carefully; it was now a bright shade of chestnut brown, along with his beard and mustache. After applying deodorant and cologne, he rummaged through his underwear drawer and picked out a pair of tight red briefs. The amount of weight he had gained became obvious by the fact that the briefs barely fit him. He then walked over to his wardrobe closet and picked out a pair of finely pressed black slacks. He secured them in place with a black leather belt with a gold buckle. The shirt that he picked was cranberry red, buttoned all the way to the top. He unbuttoned the first two buttons so he would look more casual; he was going to a coffeehouse, after all. Then he realized that he had misplaced the napkin upon which Reg White had written the address. 

"Damn it to hell!" he yelled. He ran barefooted to the pile of repulsive clothing he had been wearing and looked through every pocket. Moments later, he gave a sigh of relief when he found the napkin in his outer trench coat pocket. He then carefully put the napkin under a globe paperweight, which had been given to him as a gift by Jonathan. 

Now the next task was to find some appropriate footwear. First he looked in his sock drawer and picked out a pair of clean black nylon socks. Then he picked out a pair of black loafers that were very dusty from disuse. He blew most of the dust off, and then used a clean rag to finish wiping them off until they were shiny again. It took a while for him to find a shoehorn; it was in his bureau drawer amongst a clutter of papers and other junk. He used the shoehorn to put his shoes on. He was almost finished. 

He looked at the clock and was relieved to see that he would have just enough time to finish his project before having to leave to drive to the club. He then sat down and took out the supplies that he had bought at the stationary store. He worked quickly, using tape, scissors, and glue. He then wrapped up the finished product in a piece of red wrapping paper, which he carefully taped on both ends. He put the package under the globe, next to the napkin. 

The final touches of his ensemble were his jacket and hat. He picked out a pressed white denim jacket and put it on, relieved to see that it still fit him. He then walked over to the table, picked up the napkin and the package and carefully put them into his inside jacket pocket. Then he went to his closet and looked for the perfect hat. He picked out a black leather Stetson that he had bought in Las Vegas the last time he was vacationing there with Jonathan, and put it on top of his freshly dyed head, careful not to mess up his hair. He looked in the mirror one final time, and for the first time in a long time he liked what he saw. He started to walk to the door, but then paused just before opening it. He had the sick feeling in his stomach that somehow, after the events of tonight, things would never be the same again. A tear came to his eye, which he quickly brushed away. He could never show anyone how vulnerable he was. He had to be strong, for Jonathan's sake. He then took a deep breath and left the penthouse, turning off the lights behind him. 

****************

 

"The Wilde Place" was located on the outskirts of town, approximately three miles away from the resort. Storm entered the little coffeehouse, looking around him carefully. He noticed that all the tables were occupied by middle to upper class gay couples. On the walls were displayed pictures of noted gay poets and writers such as Walt Whitman, Truman Capote, Lord Byron and, of course, Oscar Wilde. Candles stuck in a Chianti bottle on every table dimly lighted the coffeehouse. Storm looked around him and was fascinated by the amount of work that had gone into creating this intimate, artsy atmosphere. He wondered to himself who would have the nerve to copy his idea of setting up such a well-organized, all-gay haven.

The answer became apparent when he suddenly felt someone throw his arms around him in an affectionate bear hug. Alarmed, Storm turned around to confront his assailant, but immediately relaxed when he saw the smiling face of his old friend, Henry Florshiem. Henry and Storm had been childhood friends who stayed in touch, although both had pursued separate career paths. Henry started out as a real estate broker who was always looking to make that one big deal, so that he would be able to retire and live the good life. Storm went into teaching and was a well-respected assistant professor at UCLA. He enjoyed teaching, but realized that something was missing from his life. Everything had changed for these two men by the arrival of an outspoken young man named Jonathan Bing. 

Henry was well in his element here. He was a tall, middle-aged man in his fifties with a stocky build. His salt-and-pepper hair was short and curly, he wore a gold earring in his right ear, his short beard was neatly trimmed, and a pink kerchief was tied around his neck. He wore a rainbow shirt with yellow trousers and black leather sandals. "Storm, darling, so nice to see you!" he said in his usual raspy chain smoker's voice. "What are you doing in this part of town? Slumming? I never pictured you to be the type." 

Storm laughed and said, "Oh, I heard that the owner of my bookstore's business partner was going to be performing this evening, and I had nothing else to do, so I decided to catch his act. Is he any good?"

 

"On stage, you mean?" Henry winked. 

"What else would I be talking about, you old pervert?"

"It takes one to know one!" Henry retorted. 

"So, Henry, how do you know Victor Haze?" Storm asked casually. 

Henry didn't answer the question immediately, but led Storm towards a table. When they were both sitting down, he began to speak. Storm couldn't help but notice a certain nervousness in his voice that hadn't been there before. "Victor? Ah, he, how can I say this? He's one of my connections to an old real estate deal. Goes back so far, it's not even worth mentioning." He signaled to one of the waiters. "Chachi, darling! Get us two beers, please!"

"None for me, thanks," said Storm. "I'm driving."

Henry looked at his watch and said, "Oh! Sorry, darling, I have to go now. Victor will be coming on soon and I must introduce him. Catch you later." He jumped out of his seat and ran off, pausing only to tell the waiter, "Chaichi, darling, give my friend Mr. Garner anything he wants. It's on me!" He then disappeared into the crowd.

After ordering a mocha cappuccino from Chachi, Storm sat back and contemplated his conversation with Henry. His old friend was being a little too dismissive and it there was more to it than just time pressure. He was definitely holding something back. He would make it a point to track Henry down later and solve this mystery. His train of thought was interrupted by the bright spotlight that appeared a moment later in the center of the small stage in front of him. 

Henry Florshiem emerged from the wings, stage left, threw his arms wide and said into the microphone, "Welcome to The Wilde Place! We are honored tonight to present one of our most talented performers. Let's all give a hearty welcome to Hephastion's Resorts' resident folk singer, the one, the only, Victor Haze!" 

They all clapped warmly, several people whistling and calling Victor's name as well. Then the black velvet curtains parted to reveal a slender gentleman in his mid forties with short, brown hair, a pale complexion indicative of his bookish profession, and solemn brown eyes. Storm noticed that he wasn't wearing his glasses and his posture and demeanor were much more relaxed, compared to how he had behaved in his work setting. As Victor walked over to the tall stool center stage, Storm was able to see that he was wearing a beige turtleneck with brown corduroy pants and black moccasins. He was carrying a six-stringed guitar, which he cradled in his lap as he sat down on the stool. He spoke into the microphone in a soft, shy voice. "Good evening, everyone. I would like to dedicate my first number to the memory of a dear friend of mine who has recently died of AIDS. Today would have been his birthday. Here's to you, Jonathan." Victor strummed the opening notes of the song and then started to sing.

"I would have given you all of my heart,

But there's someone who's torn it apart,

And he's taken almost all that I've got,

But if you want, I'll try to love again.

Baby, I'll try to love again, but I know

The first cut is the deepest, baby I know

The first cut is the deepest.

When it comes to being lucky, he's cursed.

When it comes to loving me, he's worst.

But when it comes to being loved, he's first.

That's how I know

The first cut is the deepest, baby I know

The first cut is the deepest...

Storm watched Victor carefully as he sang and observed the amount of emotion that was in his voice. This encounter was very much different from what he had anticipated. This hardly seemed like the cold-hearted man who had broken his lover's heart; the kindness and sensitivity that was evident in his voice caught Storm by surprise and even moved him. He did all that he could to hold back a tear from his eye. 

At the end of the song, the crowd cheered for an encore. Victor took a deep breath and said into the microphone, "I'm so sorry, but not tonight. Thank you, you've been a great audience. Thank you." He stood up, took a brief bow and walked off stage left.

The crowd grumbled in disappointment. A moment later, Henry re-emerged and said, "Wasn't that wonderful, everyone? Sorry, darlings, but Victor just informed me he was a little under the weather tonight. He'll make it up to us next time. So now it's time for the open mike poetry readings! We'll start with the first row and move on down." 

As the first poet approached the stage clutching his notebook, Henry descended stage left and quietly walked through the crowd towards Storm's table. He sat down beside him and said, "That's so unusual. He usually performs at least three or four songs."

Storm nodded his head sympathetically and gently put his hand on Henry's arm. "Henry, do you think that Victor would mind if I go backstage to his dressing room to say hello to him?"

"Oh, sure. Just don't stay too long, he's not feeling well. Let me take you back there, darling." Henry and Storm both rose from the table and the flamboyant Florshiem led his more conservative friend backstage to meet the star of his little club.

They approached a door to the left of the stage. Henry quietly knocked on the door and called, "Victor, darling! There's someone who would like to meet you."

 

The door opened enough to reveal the tired face of Victor Haze. Now he appeared emotionally drained. But once he noticed the figure of Storm Garner, he seemed to cheer up significantly. "Oh, Mr. Garner! Please come in! What a pleasant surprise! I didn't know you were here." 

As Storm prepared to enter the dressing room, he heard Henry whisper in his ear. "I'll leave you boys alone for a while." Storm nodded gratefully and quietly closed the door behind him. 

Victor motioned for Storm to sit down in the one chair that was in front of the mirror. The whole dressing room was sparsely furnished; it consisted of a mirror, a table, a chair and a small closet. Victor asked Storm, "Can I get you anything, Mr. Garner?"

Storm waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Oh no, Victor, I'm fine." 

Victor started to pace around the room thoughtfully and asked Storm, "So, Mr. Garner, what did you think of tonight's performance?" 

Storm smiled, made eye contact with Victor and said, "That was intense. I mean it. Do you sing professionally, Mr. Haze?" 

Victor laughed in a slightly embarrassed manner and said, "Heavens, no! I'm lucky that old Henry gives me a chance to play my guitar here from time to time. Can't make a living of this, you know." 

There was a momentary silence as Storm contemplated his next move. He was almost sorry that he had to do what he intended, but it was necessary. He said, "You know something, Victor? Sometimes I get so busy that I never get a chance to get to know the people who work for me. I mean, even though you technically work for Pierce, I still consider you as one of my people. So I thought I'd make up for lost time by getting you a little gift." 

Victor waved his hand dismissively and said, "Oh no, you shouldn't have! It really wasn't necessary."

Storm sighed and thought again how sad he was that this gentle man was destined to be the object of his wrath. He almost liked him at this point. He sighed again, more deeply, as he removed the package from the inner pocket of his jacket. "Here, Victor, I want you to have this." 

Victor accepted the package and gave a nod of thanks. It was a small, square package that looked like a book, wrapped in bright red foil paper with a little golden bow in the center. Victor looked puzzled, not knowing what it might be. He unwrapped it carefully. But as he saw the cover of the photo album, his face started to lose all color, becoming even paler than it already was. His hands started to shake as he opened up the green covers and looked through the pictures. He quickly looked up at Storm and gave him a look, not of anger, but of deep emotion. "How long have you known?" he asked quietly. 

Storm got up and began to pace back and forth. "As a matter of fact, Victor, I found out just this morning. I was going through some of Jonathan's old albums and this is one of the little surprises that I have found. I always wanted to meet the man who broke my lover's heart. I didn't fathom the idea that he might be one of the people who just happened to be working for me. Isn't life funny, Victor?" He laughed sarcastically. 

Victor looked away in shame. "Please, Mr. Garner, I can't bear to hear any more."

Storm walked up to him and casually put his arm around him. "Oh, don't worry, Victor, you have nothing to be afraid of. At least not now. Just tell me what I want to know and everything will be okay."

Victor sensed that something bad was about to happen, but he still believed that he could talk his way out of it. After all, they were both civilized men. So he said, "What do you want to know?" 

Storm paused, shrugged and said, "Oh, we don't have to talk about this now. Let's get together for dinner tomorrow at the Ganymede Lounge, say eight o'clock? And Mr. Haze, I strongly recommend that you don't leave town. I don't take kindly to being stood up." He gave Victor a smile that was more teeth than dimples. 

Victor was shaking at this point. He clutched the photo album and said, "Very well, tomorrow at eight o'clock. I will be there. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some things to attend to." He shrugged off Storm's arm and practically ran through the dressing room door. 

Storm followed him as far as the stage door, where he saw him getting into a dark green car. He watched him pull away.

Victor quickly put his foot on the gas and started to speed off into the night. As he was driving, he remembered with profound sadness the last night that he and Jonathan spent together...

********

They were in a hotel room on the outskirts of London. The sun was rising outside the dingy window. A naked Jonathan Bing rose from the bed and walked towards the window. Jonathan was significantly younger than Storm would remember him; his frame was overweight, but well proportioned. His brown hair was long and his beard was well trimmed. Victor, who was still under the covers, sat up in the bed. He looked at his lover, whose well-rounded rear end was toward him, and in a concerned voice said, "Jonathan, dear, is there something wrong?" 

Jonathan paced back and forth from the window to the bed and sighed. "The same thing is wrong now that has always been. I can't live like this anymore. My parents and friends know I'm involved with someone and they would like very much to meet this special person in my life. But I keep having to give excuses, one after another. 'Oh, he's busy, we're not going to be in town this week, he has a job interview', and so on, and so on. Victor, I'm just getting tired of this!"

Victor sighed and got out of the bed to comfort his lover. He was naked too, as well as twenty pounds lighter and ten years younger, with much longer hair. He reached out to his lover to try to put his arms around him, but Jonathan pulled away from him and yelled, "Don't you touch me! I need to know now, Victor, or I'm going to just get dressed and walk out! Why do we have to keep sneaking around like this? Why can't we live like a normal gay couple? What do you have to be so ashamed of? What's the big secret? Tell me, damn you, tell me!" 

Victor was silent. He didn't say a word. A long time passed. After a few minutes, Jonathan sighed in disgust, put his bathrobe on, walked into the bathroom and slammed the door. 

********

A tear came to Victor's eye as he was driving the car. His mind was clouded with remembrances of the past, emotions of hatred, fear and anger, mostly directed towards himself. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care at this point. He put his foot on the gas and made a sharp turn. However, he didn't notice the sign that said, "Construction Ahead, Yield To Left Lane". A moment later, he was staring into the bright lights of an oncoming truck. He tried to shift to the other lane, but it was too late.


	19. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Slasherfem. Focus: Lucien, Reg, Quentin and Roger.

“THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM”  
FOCUS: LUCIEN, ROGER, QUENTIN AND REG  
BY “SLASHERFEM”

 

Roger spent some time helping Lucien unpack and get settled into the new room. Afterwards, he suggested an early lunch at Neptune’s Café, but Lucien was too nervous to leave the room. So Roger called room service and ordered lunch for two. While they were waiting, they helped themselves to the contents of the minibar.

“So what are your plans now?” Roger asked, stirring his scotch on the rocks as they sat on the sofa by the terrace.

“I don’t know,” Lucien sighed as he stared into the depths of his brandy glass. “Should I spend the rest of my stay here, in seclusion? Or should I go out and try to have a good time?”

“I recommend the second option. That way, we’ll get to spend some time together,” Roger told him with a smile.

Lucien drank deep before replying. “Are you certain that you wish to be seen with me, Roger? You have seen Quentin’s temper. You know what he is likely to do if he sees us together in public.”

“Let him try to do something! Just let him try!” Roger took a hearty slug of his drink. “I’m looking forward to kicking his ass for what he did to you.”

“Please, Roger! I am not a violent man, and until last night, neither was Quentin. I do not want him hurt. Punished, yes, but not hurt.” He took another long swallow and set his empty glass aside.

“Then tell me how you want him punished,” Roger urged as he leaned closer to him. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”

Lucien looked into his earnest blue eyes and smiled. “Yes, I rather thought you would.” He stroked Roger’s left bicep affectionately as he spoke. “Just come riding with me, play tennis with me, take me to lunch and dinner. Especially dinner. I want Quentin to see that I am getting on with my life and that I can be happy without him.”

“You can be,” Roger told him. “I’ll see to that.” He finished his drink, put the glass aside, wrapped his arms around him and kissed him.

Lucien found that he liked the feeling of being kissed by a man with facial hair. It let him know for sure that a man was kissing him. After so many years of kissing Quentin’s clean-shaven face, it was refreshing. Roger’s strong arms around him felt good, too. It made him feel safe, loved and wanted. Here was someone who would not take him for granted or treat him like a possession. After a long, lovely while, Lucien broke off the kiss, but he didn’t pull away yet. He laid his head on Roger’s broad shoulder and sighed happily.

Roger hugged Lucien, glad to have him all to himself at last. Things were working out better than he’d planned. Now that Quentin had driven him away, there was no need for Roger to lure him away. _*Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face!*_   Roger thought gleefully.  _*He practically threw Lucien into my arms! Of course I would have preferred him to be less bruised…*_ He caressed Lucien’s right cheek, still black and blue from last night’s beating, and tenderly fingered his black eye, which still brought a painful lump to his throat. _*May God damn Quentin for hurting him! I’ll have to make it up to him somehow, for this and for the tea set I broke. I know, I’ll give him that silver tea service old Sir Kendal gave me as a farewell gift before he went back to England. That and all the Earl Gray tea he left me as well. Didn’t have the heart to tell the old boy I’m not much of a tea drinker. Good thing Lucien is.*_

He kissed Lucien’s cheek and told him, “I think we should go out after lunch. No sense in hiding in here all day. You don’t want Quentin to think that you’re afraid of him, do you?”

“Of course not! I just don’t want to give him an excuse to become violent again, when he sees me with you.” He lifted his head off of Roger’s shoulder to look him in the face. “You will take care, will you not, _mon ami_?” he asked him anxiously.

“You let me take care of Quentin. I can handle him.” Roger was sure he’d be more than a match for a man in his fifties who didn’t look as if he worked out regularly, if at all.

“I hope so, _mon vieux_ ,” Lucien murmured doubtfully. He knew that Quentin was tougher than he looked. He reached up to touch his black eye. “I am also embarrassed to be seen in public with this.”

“Borrow some makeup from Reg White. I’m sure he has plenty of it!” Roger laughed. “Or just put on sunglasses.”

“I do not “do” makeup,” Lucien told him in a dignified manner. “Nor do I dress in drag or wear scent more suitable for a woman. I have nothing against gays who do, but I do not wish to be among them.”

“So wear sunglasses. Do you have a prescription pair?”

“Yes, I do. I will look for them after lunch.”

“How about having dessert first?” Roger pulled him close and kissed him again.

Lucien melted into his arms, thankful to have ended up in this man’s arms after his fall from grace with Quentin. After a while, Roger began easing him gently down upon the sofa, making sure Lucien’s head was cradled on his arm. Once he had him down, he covered him, lying on top of his supine body as if he were a blanket. Lucien didn’t seem to object; he even wrapped his arms around Roger’s neck as they continued to kiss. Just as things began to get interesting, there was a knock on the door. “Room service!” yelled someone outside.

Letting out a mutual groan of disappointment, the two of them got up from the sofa, straightened their clothing and went to let in the bellhop with their lunch.

 

********

 

After lunch, Lucien located his sunglasses, changed into khakis and a white shirt with a green sweater vest, and gave in to Roger’s blandishments to go outside. The two of them stayed close together, Roger keeping one arm wrapped around the shorter man’s shoulders. They took a different route from the one that Lucien and Quentin had taken the other day; saw different sights, window-shopped in different stores. They spotted a few famous faces, vacationing in relative anonymity with other gays, far from the maddening crowd of straight female fans who loved them. Once Lucien thought he saw Reg White talking to Storm Garner, the owner of the resort. But Roger swept him past so quickly, he wasn’t sure.

Eventually they wound up in the middle of a garden, where they sat in the shade outside a Romanesque pavilion and listened to a string quartet playing Mozart. Afterwards, they went strolling through the garden together, discussing classical music. There were many fragrant, colorful flowers to admire, many tall trees with benches beneath them, and quite a few couples sitting beneath those trees admiring the view and/or each other. Roger and Lucien soon found a bench of their own to sit on, with an excellent view of the sea in the distance. They sat and talked, on and off, for quite a while. When they weren’t talking, they were admiring the view, or each other. After a while, they broke from their latest affectionate embrace to see the sun setting over the sea. They sat quietly admiring it, hand in hand, while the sun set slowly in a glorious haze of reddish-yellow over a rippling blue sea.

The sun was still peeping over the horizon when Roger squeezed Lucien’s hand and murmured, “We should be heading back to the hotel. It’ll get dark soon.”

“Yes, let us go.” Lucien was reluctant to tear himself away from the gorgeous sunset; his artistic imagination was already coming up with the beginnings of an idea for a new painting. But thirty years of life in New York City had made him wary of being outside after dark, especially with a male companion. While he knew that Hephastion’s Resort was a safe environment for men like him, he also didn’t want to tempt fate by being overconfident. Muggers weren’t particular about whom they robbed, whereas gay bashers usually robbed you as an afterthought, to add to their “fun.” So Lucien rose from the bench with its’ lovely view of the sun setting over the ocean and accompanied Roger back to the Pyramid Hotel.

Along the way, they passed a small, old-fashioned movie theater, the Bijou Retro, a reconstruction from the cinematic glory days of the 30’s. A double feature was playing, two romantic classics, spelled out on the marquee: “CASABLANCA”, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, and “MANHATTAN”, starring Woody Allen, Diane Keaton and Mariel Hemingway. There was already a long line outside the box office and the matinee crowd was just leaving. When Roger and Lucien went strolling by, hand in hand, one of the moviegoers, a tall, dark man in his fifties wearing black slacks and a blue shirt without a tie, who had just walked through the glass lobby doors into the outside, froze at the sight of them. Feeling someone’s eyes upon him, Lucien looked up--straight into the eyes of Quentin Rogue.

They stared at each other for a few moments before Lucien turned his head away in response to a question that Roger was asking him. The sunglasses he was wearing hid not only his black eye, but the surprise and fear he felt at the sight of his former lover. He hoped that Quentin would have the decency not to come running after them, bawling threats and accusations at the top of his lungs, embarrassing him publicly with a jealous scene. Much to his relief, Quentin did not pursue them, and he and Roger soon arrived at the Pyramid Hotel without incident.

As for Quentin, he just stood there in the growing dark outside the Bijou Retro, with people walking around him and a stunned look on his face, just like Bogie in “CASABLANCA” in the scene where he’s standing in the rain at the Paris train station, starring at Ingrid Bergman’s farewell letter in his hand, feeling as if his heart was just ripped out of his chest. Any hopes he’d had of reconciliation with Lucien had just died at the sight of him walking hand in hand with his new lover. It had been difficult enough sitting through CASABLANCA”, which was an old favorite of theirs, but Woody Allen’s “MANHATTAN”, which had highlighted all the best parts of New York City, places that they had visited as a couple regularly, had been extremely painful. After enough people had bumped into him on their way in or out of the theater, he snapped out of his funk and managed to make it back to the hotel himself.

He didn’t break down until he was alone in the privacy of his hotel room, the one he used to share with Lucien. Then he threw himself down on the bed and cried, just cried until he had wept himself dry and couldn’t squeeze out another tear. When he was calm again, he picked up the phone and dialed Reg White’s number.

“Reg,” he croaked when the singer answered, “Reg, it’s Quentin. I saw Lucien tonight--with him!”

“When was this, darling?” Reg listened sympathetically while Quentin poured his heart out to him over the phone. People were hustling and bustling in his suite, getting ready for tonight’s show; his manager was arguing over his cell phone with the theater in Los Angeles where he had been scheduled to appear next week, until Reg had decided to postpone the concert until he heard from the detective agency in New York. The people in L.A were threatening to sue for breach of contract and Reg’s manager was using every ounce of his British charm to convince them that the singer would, indeed, be there, just a few days later than planned, on account of a personal problem that had just come up.

Meanwhile, Reg’s personal hairdresser and makeup artist was pleading with him to come and be made up for tonight’s show, while his wardrobe man was demanding that he decide between one suit and another. Kenny was holding them both at bay, right outside the terrace where Reg had been happily watching the sunset with him until the star’s cell phone rang. Kenny was telling both gentlemen that the boss would be right with them as soon as he finished his phone call, but that if they didn’t stop bugging him, he would drag them both to the nearest window and drop them outside to see if they bounced. While all of this was going on inside the suite, Reg sat outside on the terrace in his navy blue designer sweat suit, still unshowered from his recent workout with Kenny in the hotel’s health spa, with his cell phone glued to his ear, trying to help a friend through a bad breakup.

Only when Quentin had finally ran out of things to say did Reg dare to offer an opinion, sympathy leavened with common sense. “Well, Quentin, I hate to say I told you so, but you really shouldn’t be surprised to see that he’s already moved on. All that jealous temper of yours did was drive him into the arms of the man you were trying to keep him away from. You played right into Roger’s hands, driving Lucien away by beating him. The way you go on whenever another man so much as looks in his direction, you should have known that he was going to end up leaving you sooner or later.”

“I know, I know, but this is sooner than even I expected!” Quentin sobbed into the phone, feeling fresh tears threatening to break out of his eyes at any minute.

“Now calm down, darling. Just relax. Have a stiff drink and then come down to Ganymede’s Lounge and have a nice dinner on me. I’ll make a reservation for you, tell them that you’re with my party. After the show, I may have some good news for you.”

“What kind of good news?”

“Let’s just say that you and Lucien may be getting back together sooner than you think. If everything works out according to my plan.”

“What plan?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you, darling. I have to run now. Ta-ta.” Reg ended the call, took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. Then he went back inside to face the music and make it.

 

********

 

By unspoken agreement, Lucien and Roger did not have dinner at the hotel restaurant that night. Instead, after a brief stop at their separate rooms to freshen up and change clothes, exchanging their casual wear for jackets and ties, they met in the lobby, where Roger escorted Lucien to an Italian restaurant that served the best pasta Lucien had ever tasted outside of Little Italy back home in New York. The wine wasn’t bad either; they finished a whole bottle of the finest red between them. So by the time dessert and coffee arrived, Lucien was feeling no pain.

Still wearing his prescription sunglasses, Lucien was able to enjoy the pleasure of Roger’s company despite the many strange looks he got from people who were unaccustomed to seeing someone wearing dark glasses at night. He silently vowed to visit Reg White in the morning and request the services of his makeup man to hide the black eye and facial bruises he still bore.

Meanwhile, Roger was having the time of his life, eating and flirting with the man he loved without a single mercenary thought in his handsome head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out with an older man without automatically calculating his net worth by the clothes he wore, the dishes and wine he ordered, and which credit card he used to pay for them. He spent most of the meal telling Lucien about his life in Aspen, the thriving art gallery he owned and ran, the many celebrities and beautiful people who visited it regularly, the places he liked to go for recreation--especially the dude ranch where he boardered his horse, a coal-black stallion with a white streak on his forehead ending in a star-shaped spot, which had made Roger name him Haley’s Comet. He told him very little about his personal life and family background, only that his late father had been a career Navy man, who had spent most of his tour of duty overseas after his wife died, leaving his young son in Colorado to be raised by his married sister, Minnie Lennox.

Aunt Minnie had never had children of her own and was happy to lavish love and attention on her brother’s only son. Her husband Mike hadn’t been so welcoming; in fact, he had made no secret of his dislike of the boy who took up so much of his wife’s time. Every time Roger’s father had called long distance or come on one of his rare visits, Uncle Mike kept asking him when he was going to take Roger home with him. The fact that Commodore Wilkins didn’t have a permanent home to raise his son in and didn’t want him to become a Navy brat, dragged from one Naval base to another, didn’t deter him.

Lucien couldn’t help feeling sorry for the little boy whose uncle treated him like an unwanted guest who had overstayed his time, while his father kept coming in and out of his life like a sailor on leave, showing up with an armful of presents and leaving soon afterwards, with no assurances as to when he would come again or whether they would be living together under the same roof soon. He was relieved to hear that grouchy Uncle Mike died in an accident when Roger was twelve, leaving him to enjoy the rest of his childhood with his loving Aunt Minnie. Thanks to a small inheritance left to him by his mother, Roger had been able to attend the University of Colorado, where he majored in art and business; after graduation he had invested what remained of his inheritance into the art gallery he now ran so successfully. No mention was made of the fact that the Wilkins Gallery had initially been supported by the generosity of rich, older men and that Roger’s last two relationships had resulted in financial and artistic windfalls.

Lucien was so blinded by love that he wasn’t able to read the warning signs that kept popping up in Roger’s talk about his personal life: the loss of his mother when he was five, followed by his father’s virtual desertion, the indulgent mother figure of Aunt Minnie, the cold and distant father figure of Uncle Mike, the attention that Roger’s good looks and intelligence had always gotten him, socially and academically. The fact that he always played to win, whether on the tennis court or in business, and that sometimes his competition suffered for it…none of that mattered beside the fact that Lucien Le Barre had fallen head over heels for him, practically at first sight, and that he seemed to be the ideal man Lucien had always hoped that he could train Quentin to be.

After dinner, they walked back to the hotel in the moonlight, holding hands and exchanging fond glances the way that lovers do. When the elevator door opened on the ninth floor, Roger automatically stepped out, still holding Lucien’s hand, obviously expecting Lucien to follow him. Which he did, as eager to consummate the relationship as Roger was, hoping to put his past behind him for good after tonight.

Once they were in Roger’s room, Lucien finally removed his dark glasses. The sight of his black eye didn’t seem to dim Roger’s ardor. All he did was ask him, “Does that eye still hurt? Would you like a drink after I put some more Neosporin on it?” The daily application of the antibiotic and pain relieving cream had really helped to relieve the swelling and the pain. So Lucien graciously accepted his offer. As soon as his eye had been anointed, Roger poured them a couple of brandies from the minibar. After half a drink and damn little conversation, they were practically ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lucien hit the mattress first, face up. Roger soon followed, covering him with his big body like a blanket. They kissed passionately as they wrapped themselves around each other. The way that Lucien wrapped his legs around Roger’s waist told the younger man what he wanted. He would give it to him, as soon as he made sure that he was pleasured. So he made his way down Lucien’s body, leaving a trail of wet kisses from his Adam’s Apple through his hairy chest, down to his groin, where his rampant erection was already leaking precum onto his flat belly. After licking it clean, Roger took it in his mouth and sucked it greedily. _*Mine, all mine!*_ he thought, feverishly determined to make Lucien his by any means possible.

Lucien sighed and moaned, ran his fingers through Roger’s black hair, and enjoyed every moment of the blowjob, right until the moment he came. When he did, the big knot that his nerves had been tied into since last night finally came undone, and a name hovered on his lips; not Roger’s. He stopped himself from saying it in the nick of time and murmured, _“Mon amour,”_ instead.

After they had lain quietly for a while, with Roger’s head resting on Lucien’s belly, Roger pulled himself up to where Lucien’s head lay on the pillow and kissed him, letting him taste his essence in Roger’s mouth. “Are you ready for more?” Roger asked.

 _“Oui,”_ was all that Lucien said. He caressed Roger’s bearded face before pulling his knees up and back. Roger slid his own knees under him and reached for the lubricant he had ready on the bedside table. Once he had anointed his long, thick cock, he rubbed some over and around Lucien’s anus. He was so impatient, he didn’t want to waste time on too much foreplay.

“I’m sorry, love, but I can’t wait. Got to have you now,” he groaned. He didn’t wait for Lucien to protest, just stuffed a pillow under his hips and used one hand to guide his cock into the small opening between the tight ass cheeks. A muffled gasp came from Lucien, as the entrance to his body was breeched so abruptly. Roger didn’t put in more than his cockhead, at first. He managed to hold still and let Lucien become accustomed to the feel of it inside him before pushing in further, slowly, one aching inch at a time. Soft whimpers and moans escaped Lucien, who kept his legs up and spread wide. Despite the pain he was feeling, he didn’t ask Roger to stop. He endured it bravely until the whole nine inches was buried in him, up to the hilt. Then he wept and clawed Roger’s back, raking it with his nails until he drew blood, which made Roger cry out in protest. Seeing that his lover was now hurt as badly as he was, Lucien was satisfied.

“Now you can fuck me,” he told him in a baritone growl. Roger did so, warily, pulling out and thrusting in slowly, to avoid hurting him again. Since he was well lubricated, he was soon able to please them both with a slow, steady fuck. Lucien was able to forgive him for the initial roughness, but he didn’t forget it. Despite the pleasure he was now feeling, he remained wary, not allowing himself to really relax until the friction and heat of intercourse overwhelmed him to the point where he was demanding more. “Harder! Faster!” he told Roger breathlessly. When Roger obliged him, he gripped his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises and started moaning in French.

By that point, Roger was past caring about the scratches on his back or the painful grip on his shoulders. He was pounding into Lucien’s ass like a jackhammer, his youth and strength evident by the way he kept on going despite the minor discomforts. He lasted a little bit longer than Quentin would have done, long enough to make Lucien come like a geyser, spewing hot, white come between their tightly pressed bellies, making him cry out in what sounded more like anguish than ecstasy. Fortunately for Lucien, Roger came only a moment after he did, almost simultaneously, so he didn’t hear his newly mated lover calling out Quentin’s name when he came.


	20. "More Revelations"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a violent confrontation between Roger and Quentin, which is necessary for the development of the plot.

FOCUS: LUCIEN, ROGER, QUENTIN AND REG

The morning after his show, Reg White sat on the terrace of his suite in his yellow silk pajamas and blue silk dressing gown, eating French toast. His manager, Pete Boroughs, wearing a conservative navy blue suit and a blue and white striped silk tie, sat across from him complaining.

“We should have been in Los Angeles by now!” griped Pete, a tall, skinny, bearded Englishman with thinning, dark brown hair, intense blue eyes and a long nose. “Do you know how long I was on the phone with those bastards, convincing them that you were unavoidably detained here on personal business?”

“Well, I am,” Reg replied, dipping a piece of French toast in a puddle of maple syrup. “That is, I was. But I’m expecting that to change any moment now.” He put the piece of French toast in his mouth and chewed it slowly, with great enjoyment.

“What do you mean?”

Reg swallowed and said, “I mean I’m expecting that private dick I hired to call me today.”

Pete sighed through his long nose. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that. Can’t you say ‘private investigator’?”

Reg grinned at him. “But I like private dicks, Pete. Don’t you?”

“As long as they stay private.   But how do you know he’ll call today?”

Reg shrugged. “I just have a feeling.” At that moment, his cell phone rang. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, Reg pulled out the phone, flipped it open and said, “Hello, Reg White here.”

“Hiya, Reggie! It’s Carl,” came a Brooklyn-accented baritone.

“Carl, darling!” said Reg to his ex-wife’s husband. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting ages for your call!”

“Well, it hasn’t been easy getting the goods on this guy Roger Wilkins. I only received the final report last night. Ya wanna hear it? Or should I just fax it to ya ASAP?”

“Hold on a sec, Carl.” Reg put him on hold. “Pete, would you be a dear and let me take this call in private?”

“Let me guess. It’s your private investigator?”

“Right the first time. Now if you don’t mind...” Reg shooed him away with one manicured hand.

“All right, I’m going!” Pete grabbed his coffee cup and went back inside, passing Kenny on the way. The hunky young bodyguard was leaning against the wall by the French windows, muscles bulging attractively through the sleeves of his red sweat suit top, which was unzipped low enough to reveal his light brown chest hair; his long legs, clad in the matching red sweatpants, also bulged at the thighs and calves, while his big feet, clad in size 12 white Adidas, were crossed at the ankles. Pete couldn’t help but stare appreciatively at him while commenting, “Nice outfit, Kenny. Tell me, do you really sweat in that sweat suit?”

Kenny smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “Why don’t you come with me to the gym sometime, Pete? I’ll give you a workout you’ll never forget.”

“You mean exercise?”

“That, too,” Kenny said with a wink.

Pete laughed and went inside, closing the door behind him. Kenny made sure it was shut before resuming his stance. His pose looked lazy, but he was ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice, in case some crazed fan took it into his head to climb up to the terrace or rappel down to meet the star, who was now speaking into his cell phone with great earnestness.

“Are you sure about this, darling?” Reg said softly, glancing up at Kenny occasionally to make sure he wasn’t listening.

“I’m positive. This Wilkins guy has quite a history,” said Carl Andretti as he sat behind his desk in the office of Beckett Investigations in New York City, with the speakerphone on and a case folder open in front of him. His office door was closed and he had made sure that his secretary was out to lunch. He had even mentioned to her that there was a sale going on at Strawberry’s, her favorite boutique, to make sure she’d take a long lunch. His tailored red silk suit jacket was hung up on the wall opposite his desk, and he’d loosened his red tie and rolled up the sleeves of his red and white striped shirt, but he was still feeling uncomfortable as he read what his operative had sent him over the office fax machine the previous evening. “According to my man in Aspen, Roger Thomas Wilkins, born November 3rd, 1972, was the son of a career Navy man, Commodore Thomas William Wilkins. Commodore Wilkins’ wife died when their son was five, so he dumps his kid on his married sister, Minnie Lennox, before he sails off to Europe.

“The kid didn’t have a very happy childhood. His Aunt Minnie loved him, but her husband Mike didn’t like having a kid around. Neighbors say that he treated his nephew like part of the furniture, when he was sober. When he was drunk, which happened every payday and on most weekends, he was always yelling at him for something or other. Every bit of kid’s mischief Roger got into, stuff that anybody who knows kids would just shrug off, would make old Uncle Mike react like he was a budding juvenile delinquent. The old lady who used to live next door to the Lennoxes told my guy she often heard Mike yelling and cursing at little Roger, or at Minnie for defending him. Plenty of times she saw bruises on the kid, even an occasional black eye. The kid always told her that he just fell down, but as she told my guy, the ground always seemed to hit him harder than it did the other kids in the neighborhood

“Fortunately for Roger, dear old Uncle Mike died in an accident when the kid was twelve. Or so it seemed at the time. According to the police report filed on October 15th, 1984, Mike Lennox drove home drunk, and after parking inside his garage with the motor still running, fell asleep behind the wheel of his car. His wife told the cops he was in the habit of driving home drunk and sleeping it off in the car, after making sure he had parked inside the garage, rolled down the driver’s side window, turned off the motor and shut the door behind him with the remote control. But when they found him the next morning, all the car’s windows were shut, as well as the garage windows. You know what happens to people who fall asleep inside a car with the motor running?”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” Reg replied. “Sounds like a tragic accident, caused by drunken carelessness.”

“Yeah, sure sounds that way, don’t it?” Carl’s full upper lip was curling in distaste as he read the copy of the accident report filed by the Aspen Police Department in 1984. “The investigating officer wasn’t so sure. Says he questioned the victim’s wife about her husband’s habits, and according to her, Mike Lennox always fell asleep in the car with the window on the driver’s side open. But when she found him dead, the driver’s side window was rolled up. At first the officer thought that Mrs. Lennox might have had a hand in her husband’s demise, seeing as how he was a mean drunk who frequently abused her and the kid, and she had a large insurance policy on him. But then he learned that she took sleeping pills, on account of all the sleepless nights her husband used to cause her whenever he stayed out late drinking. So on the night her husband died, Minnie Lennox was out like a light.

“Young Roger’s room was right above the garage, and he frequently stayed up late doing homework, so he would know whenever his uncle got home. The officer wrote that Roger Wilkins ‘seems like an intelligent young man, with a firm grasp of simple mechanics. Enough to know that you shouldn’t keep your car engine on inside a garage with all the doors and windows closed.’ But a boy of twelve wouldn’t need to know how to drive, in order to open a car door without disturbing the sleeping driver, roll up the window and press down the door lock, then turn the key in the ignition, shut the door and go back upstairs to bed.”

“Are you suggesting that Roger may have murdered his uncle?” Reg couldn’t believe his ears. “At twelve years old?” 

Carl shrugged his shoulders, then remembered that Reg couldn’t see the gesture. “I’m not saying he did it. Neither is the officer who wrote this report. I mean, if you read between the lines, you can see that he had his suspicions, but he never found any proof that young Roger had been responsible for the death of his abusive uncle. So he just filed his report and the death was ruled an accident, caused by drunken carelessness, as you put it. Mrs. Lennox didn’t waste any time cashing in on her husband’s insurance policy, and she and her nephew lived happily ever after on the cash provided.

“Oh, and there was also an incident at Saint Regis’ Catholic High School, which Roger Wilkins attended from September ‘86 to June ‘89. It seems a popular math teacher was accused of giving the answers to the final exam to four of his favorite pupils, one of whom was Roger. This teacher was rumored to be a little too fond of young boys; Roger and the other boys were frequently kept after school for ‘private tutoring’. He was also known to give them rides home in his car, Roger more often than the rest. Anyway, somebody with a guilty conscience sent an anonymous note to the principal, Father Daemon Kares, telling him there was cheating going on.

“Father Daemon investigated and discovered that there was some hanky-panky going on between this math teacher, Patrick Shameless--Excuse me, I meant Shamus--and his four star pupils. Now remember, this is a Catholic high school, so naturally they want to avoid a scandal. So the padre tells Shamus in private that he has two choices: resign or be turned in to the police for messing with minors. Shamus leaves quietly, so a scandal is avoided. The four boys have to take the math final over again; this time only three of them pass. One of ‘em was Roger Wilkins.”

“But if he was smart enough to pass the test on his own, why did he make his teacher give him the answers?” Reg asked, puzzled.

“I don’t think he did it for himself,” Carl told him. “I think he did it for his friends. Roger and the other boys were all good friends. They were also all gay. They probably thought they were the only gay students at this school. And they were all being _schtupped_ by Shamus too. He thought none of the boys knew about the others, but eventually they compared notes and found out he was doing ‘em all. A month before the finals, a couple of the boys refused to put out anymore and they were afraid that Shamus would flunk ‘em on that account. One boy was really lousy at math--he was the one who failed when they took the new exam--and he was only putting out so he’d get a passing grade. But when he found out that Shamus was getting it from the other boys as well, he stopped putting out too. That made Roger the only one who was still putting out when the finals came around.

“The way I see it, his friends musta gone to him, one at a time or in a group, and said, ‘Roger, you gotta help us. This guy’s gonna flunk us for not putting out anymore. You’re still the teacher’s pet, you gotta tell him to go easy on us, give us a passing grade so we don’t flunk our senior year.’ So Roger helps his friends the only way he knows how, by blackmailing Mr. Shamus into giving him the answers to the math final. All his other subjects he passes with flying colors; English, Social Studies, Science, he gets high marks in all of ‘em. He was even in the Drama Club and ROTC. So he obviously didn’t need any help passing his exams. I think he was just helping out his friends.”

“Well, he’s loyal, at least,” said Reg with grudging admiration. “And I can’t say that Shamus fellow didn’t deserve it, taking advantage of such young boys like that. Do you know what became of him afterwards?”

Carl picked up a newspaper clipping and stared at it a long time before speaking. “Yeah, the local paper ran a story six months later about an unemployed high school teacher committing suicide. Neighbors said he was depressed over not being able to find work. Evidently word got around about his sexual preferences.”

“I see.” Reg swallowed hard; he hated hearing about discrimination against his kind, even when the gay person in question brought it on himself by being indiscreet. A teacher at a Catholic high school--any high school, for that matter--should have known better than to mess around with young boys where he worked. No matter how careful you were, word always got around. “What about Mr. Wilkins’ activities after high school?”

“I’ll just give you the highlights. This folder’s kinda long.” Carl proceeded to skim through the folder, telling Reg about Roger’s brief stint in the Navy, where he traded heavily on his late father’s reputation, as well as his good looks, until he rose to the rank of lieutenant junior grade at age nineteen. He was on the verge of being promoted to full lieutenant when some old admiral accused him of conduct unbecoming an officer. This unbecoming conduct involved the admiral’s son, who was Roger’s commanding officer at the time. As the C.O. was a married man, eager to avoid scandal, he had cooperated with the Navy brass in persuading his father to drop the charges against his erstwhile aide de camp. So Roger managed to leave the Navy with an honorable discharge for “family obligations” (his Aunt Minnie, then sixty-four years old, conveniently became very sick at this time, which enabled him to get a sympathetic discharge to take care of her), in return for his vow of silence about the matter.

Roger had then used the G.I. Bill to apply to the University of Colorado, where he got his Associate of Arts Degree at twenty-one. He also got very high grades from three elderly professors whose courses he took, and for whom he had served internships, doing everything he could to help them out. Or so all three of them had sworn to Carl’s man in Colorado, who made a point of mentioning in his report that all of the professors seemed to become very uncomfortable when discussing Roger; averting their eyes, mouthing standard phrases of what a brilliant student he was, looking very nervous when questioned about ‘private tutoring’ sessions. As Carl’s investigator put it, “It seemed almost a waste of time to ask them if they were gay.” Why else would all three of them have been so interested in helping a handsome young man pass their courses?

Six months later, Aunt Minnie died and left Roger a generous inheritance. And so Roger Thomas Wilkins, at the age of twenty-one, had then purchased a failing art gallery, and within a year had turned it into the most successful business in Aspen. With a little help from his friends, most of whom were rich, older gentlemen with a taste for art and a fondness for handsome young men. Roger seemed to attract rich, older men the way a candle flame attracts moths. Not all the moths were able to escape being scorched; two out of three of Roger’s rich friends were divorced within a year of meeting him, some forcibly outed by their vindictive wives, others shamed into paying huge settlements in order to remain in the closet. A few men had committed suicide after being outed or threatened with outing. But the most disturbing thing Carl told Reg was about the fate of Roger’s last lover, the artist Sam Sterling, who had lived with him for two years until his sudden death at the age of seventy, ostensibly from heart failure.

“Thank you for telling me this, Carl,” Reg said, though he didn’t sound very thankful. “I would appreciate it if you’d send me this folder via UPS Overnight, marked “Confidential”. I think you’ll agree with me that this information is much too delicate to send via fax.”

“Whatever you say, Reggie. But if I was you, I’d tell this artist friend of yours all about his new boyfriend ASAP. You might start by asking him if Roger’s asked him to move in yet, or if he’s taken out a large insurance policy on him.”

“I think it’s a bit too soon for that, old boy,” Reg demurred. “But I certainly will have a long talk with Lu--my artist friend,” he said hastily, “about his summer romance.”

“Okay, Reggie,” said Carl, discretely ignoring Reg’s near slip of the tongue. “I’ll send this sucker to you UPS Overnight, soon as my secretary gets back from lunch.”

“Thank you so much, Carl. Please give Rene my love. I’ll send you a check for the rest of what I owe you, with a little extra if you promise to keep this under your hat.”

“Hey, come on, Reggie! You know that Beckett Investigations guarantees confidentiality.”

“Of course I do. Just consider it a bonus for your promptness, then. Take Rene out to dinner someplace nice.”

“Will do! Pleasure doing business with ya, Tinkerbell,” Carl said playfully.

“Same here, Stud.” Reg grinned, showing the gap between his teeth as he smiled into his cell phone. “Ta-Ta for now!” He ended the call and sat there staring into space, wondering how he was going to break this news to Lucien. He decided to do it today, after their tennis game this afternoon.

 _*Let him enjoy the rest of the day with Roger. He’s probably out with him someplace on the resort, swimming, horseback riding or whatever.*_ He’d become accustomed to Lucien disappearing from his suite in the morning, not to be found until late afternoon or early evening, all aglow from a day spent in the sun and in Roger’s company. Quentin, his erstwhile lover, had become somewhat of a recluse; ever since running into the happy couple outside the Bijou Retro on Wednesday night, he had spent the last two days either in his suite or at the hotel’s sports bar, The Achilles’ Heel, drinking heavily. The only time he came out was to play tennis against the hotel’s tennis pro, a bruising game that always ended with him leaving the court sweat-soaked and on shaky legs, in a state of extreme exhaustion. The tennis pro usually ended up looking like a wrung out dishrag too; Reg privately thought he deserved a bonus for putting up with difficult customers like Quentin, who used him to work off their frustrations with other matters.

 _*I just hope Quentin has the sense to play his set in the morning, not this afternoon. It would certainly prove embarrassing if we should run into him on his way out of the court while we were going in.*_ Reg checked his daily schedule on the calendar of his cell phone. _*Let’s see, Friday at three p.m., tennis with Lucien and Roger. Quentin usually plays his set with the pro either at tennish or noonish. Good, that means we won’t run into him.*_ A relieved Reg finished his breakfast and went inside to let his manager know that he expected an important delivery via UPS Overnight, little knowing how fate intended to serve him and Lucien with a hell of a backhand.

*******

As luck would have it, Quentin Rogue spent the morning of that day sleeping off his hangover from the night before. By the time he woke up, it was already past ten o’clock. So he thought, _*The hell with it, I’ll play tennis in the afternoon. If they don’t have any openings, I’ll go back to the Bijou Retro and see another sappy movie. Beats the hell out of listening to Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in the garden.*_   He had never cared for classical music, even after thirty years with Lucien. There were a lot of things he had put up with for Lucien’s sake, while they were together. Now that they were apart, he could enjoy all the things he liked; jazz, beer, fast food, baseball games on TV, leaving dirty clothes all over the place. But now that he had the freedom to enjoy all these things, he would have gladly given them all up if only Lucien would come back to him.

So, eaten up with longing and unable to vent his feelings creatively, Quentin had spent the last two days wearing himself out in the morning with exercise, preferring tennis over swimming or jogging, since it tired him out more. After spending an hour pounding the ball back and forth across the net, wearing out his tennis racket as well as the tennis pro, he would spend the rest of the day at the Bijou Retro or at the Achilles’ Heel sports bar, eating all his favorite foods, drinking as much beer as he liked, watching ballgames on the widescreen TV. He frequently thought about picking someone up to get even with Lucien, but his heart just wasn’t in it. He longed to go out and explore the rest of the resort as well, but he was too afraid of running into Lucien and his new lover. Remembering what had happened the night he’d driven Lucien away, he was afraid of what might happen if he came face to face with his former lover and his rival. So he avoided public places as much as possible, to avoid running into them. He had even stopped talking to Reg White, for fear of sounding too needy if he asked him how Lucien was.

That fateful Friday in May, after Quentin had spent the morning in his suite recovering from his hangover, he showered and changed into his tennis clothes--he’d bought a second set in the hotel’s pro shop, to have something to wear while the first set was being laundered--and went to the tennis court at 2:00 P.M. After wearing out the pro for an hour, he stumbled off the court, heading for the showers. On his way, he heard the voices of the men heading for the court to begin their 3:00 P.M. game of doubles. Familiar voices; one of them was Reg White, the other was Lucien Le Barre.

 _*Lucien!*_   Quentin’s heart leaped as he heard the voice of his beloved. He turned around and saw him talking to Reg, telling him about the concert he and Roger had attended in the garden yesterday, where the string band played. Right behind Lucien was Roger, tall, dark and handsome and athletic-looking in his tennis whites; beside him walked Kenny, also a handsome sight in his tennis clothes.

Quentin saw red. Here was his lover, his spouse, going on with his life as if he hadn’t a care in the world, while he, Quentin, was bleeding inside. And there was the source of his pain, walking right behind Lucien. “Damn him! Damn him to hell!” Quentin hissed, his hand tightening on the handle of his tennis racket. He started to raise it to shoulder level, then put it down carefully in a corner. No, he wasn’t going to ruin a good tennis racket on the son of a bitch. Better if he used his bare hands...

Roger and Lucien took their places on one side of the net, the side closest to the covered walkway leading to the locker room. Reg and Kenny took their places on the other side, while Mario Silvane and a few of his red shirts discretely surrounded the tennis court, ready to turn away anybody who tried to approach the singer. Their job was to protect Reg, so they kept their eyes on him, not on whoever was with him. Anybody that physically close to Reg White was considered a friend, therefore a non-threat. So they paid no attention to anybody who happened to be loitering in the covered walkway. People could look at the star all they liked, as long as they didn’t try to approach him.

Reg threw the ball in the air, and as it came back down, gave it a good wack, serving it over the net toward Lucien. The artist sent it back to him, and the game was in progress. The four men spent a few minutes serving the ball back and forth before it went out of bounds. When it did, it was on Lucien and Roger’s side. As it bounced toward the walkway, Roger went after it.

As he was bending over in the shade of the walkway, reaching for the bright yellow tennis ball, Quentin emerged from behind one of the twin pillars at the entrance. He came up behind Roger, put his hands together in a hammer fist and hit him in the back of the head. Roger went down. Quentin flung himself on top of him and began pounding him with both fists. “You son of a bitch!” Quentin yelled. “Fucking home wrecker! You stole my husband, you bastard!”

Roger shook him off his back like a stallion shaking off an annoying fly, jumped up and began hitting him in return. “Back off, you fucking queen-bitch!” Roger snarled as his right hook sent Quentin’s head rocking backwards. “You can’t steal something that’s been thrown away!”

“I didn’t throw him away! You took him from me!” Quentin screamed as he hit Roger upside the head.

“I took him in after he ran away from you!” Roger retorted, landing a left hook on Quentin’s chin.

Quentin came back with a one-two punch, making Roger stagger back a foot or so. “You stole my husband! Nobody takes what’s mine!”

“He’s mine now, bitch! Get used to it!” Roger landed a punch in Quentin’s gut. While he was bent over, Roger got him into a headlock and really started pummeling him.

Lucien, Reg and Kenny had all run up to see what was happening. “Roger! Quentin!” Lucien cried. “Stop it! Stop it, please!” He started to run toward them, intending to separate them, but Reg caught him by the arm and held him back.

“No, Lucien! _Non, non, mon ami!_ ” Reg said frantically. “Stay out of it, please!” He didn’t want his friend to be hurt again, by either of his lovers.

“But they will kill each other! We must stop them, Reginald!”

 _“Oui, c’est mon entendu!”_ Reg assured him. “Kenny, go over there and break that up! Kick both their arses if you have to!”

“Okay, Reg!” Kenny didn’t hesitate. He waded right into the middle of the fray and grabbed each man by the back of the neck. “Okay, come on, guys! Cut that shit out!” He pulled them apart like a couple of fighting dogs, threw Quentin against the right hand pillar of the entranceway and pushed Roger up against the left hand pillar. While he was holding Roger against the pillar, trying to calm him down, Quentin came up behind him and reached over his shoulders to get at Roger.

“Hey! I said cut that shit out!” Kenny backhanded Quentin, sending him staggering back. Then Roger pushed Kenny aside and went for Quentin again, causing Kenny to stumble after them and forcibly separate them again. As he held them apart with his legs spread wide, one big hand planted on Roger’s chest while the other hand was planted on Quentin’s chest, both men doing their best to go through him to get at each other, Kenny decided that now would be a good time for reinforcements.

“Hey, Mario!” Kenny yelled. “I could use a little help here!”

“You got it, Ken!” yelled Mario as he came running up with two of his red shirts. Within minutes Mario and one red shirt had a hold of Quentin, while Kenny and the other red shirt had a hold of Roger. They pulled them apart and kept them separated while both men continued to yell threats and curses at each other.

“All right, you two! You’ve had your fun!” Reg informed them, planting his plump, diminutive self right between the two six-foot antagonists, with his hands on his hips and a warlike look in his brown eyes behind his rose-colored glasses. “You should both be ashamed of yourselves! Fighting in public like a couple of kids in the schoolyard! Scaring the hell out of poor Lucien! Hasn’t he suffered enough? You’re not exactly helping your case, Quentin, trying to win him back by beating up Roger! And you’re no hero either, Roger, using dirty fighting tactics on a man old enough to be your father!”

“I’m not that old, Reg!” Quentin protested.

“Says who, bitch?” Roger taunted him. “My mother could punch harder than you!”

“Your mother sucks cocks at the YMCA!” Quentin snarled at him.

“Your mother barks!” Roger retorted. “That’s why you’re such a bitch!”

Quentin lunged at him, giving Reg quite a fright until Mario and the red shirt pulled him back. “That’s enough already!” Reg told them. “Now shut your dirty mouths and listen to me! I want both of you to retire to your neutral corners, namely your rooms, and stay there for the next twenty-four hours! Neither of you are to call Lucien or send him any messages, either by slipping a note under his door or bribing one of the hotel’s staff to bring him a letter. I don’t want either of you to bother him for the next twenty-four hours, is that clear? Let him decide for himself which one of you he wants more! Now we’re getting out of here, Lucien and I, and going back up to my suite. We’ll both be incommunicado for the rest of the day. Kenny, you and Mario and the boys hold onto these two until we’re out of sight. Give us a five minute head start to get to the elevator, then you can let them go.” He turned to his friend and said, “Come on, Lucien, let’s get out of here!”

“ _Apres vous_ , Reginald,” Lucien told him politely. He followed the singer off the tennis court, carefully avoiding looking at either man as he walked between them. His head was held high, his face was set like a stone, while his hazel eyes looked as if he was walking a gauntlet between two groups of fag bashers eager to beat him up. Quentin saw that his face was looking better, the bruises and the black ring around his right eye having faded somewhat; either he was healing fast or he was using makeup to cover the worst of his injuries.

“Lucien!” Quentin called to him pitifully as he passed. “Lucien, I love you! Please forgive me!”

“Don’t listen to him, Lucien!” Roger told him. “Stay with Reg! Don’t answer the phone or the door for twenty-four hours!”

Lucien didn’t say anything to either of them as he hurried to catch up to Reg. He kept his brave face on while he was walking side by side with Reg, all the way to the elevator. When the elevator doors closed on them, he sighed and hung his head, covering his eyes with one hand. “ _Mon ami_ ,” he said helplessly to Reg, “if I were a much younger man, I would find this very romantic, having two men fight over me. But at my age, I merely find it embarrassing.”

“There, there, darling,” Reg said soothingly, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Don’t waste a minute thinking about either of those men. They’re animals, both of them!”

Lucien tried to tell him how hopeless he felt, how confused he was over which one to defend, lover or seducer. Reg just held him and listened sympathetically to the confused tangle of words, in French and English, all the way to the 13th floor, where he escorted Lucien to his own room, fixed him a stiff drink and left him alone at his request, with a box of tissues close at hand. After leaving Lucien’s suite, he gave orders to his private security guards that neither Roger Wilkins nor Quentin Rogue was to be allowed on this floor under any circumstances; they were both _persona non grata_ for the next twenty-four hours. He then went into his own suite and had a stiff drink. Several stiff drinks, as a matter of fact. Teatime came and went and he was still drinking, though he managed to get a bit of food down as well to appease his manager, who was afraid all the booze would affect his performance on stage that night.


	21. "The Moment of Truth"

FOCUS: REG, LUCIEN, ROGER, QUENTIN

 

Friday morning, the day after the disturbance on the tennis court (which was described in the Pyramid Hotel’s Security Log as “a brief altercation between friends in Mr. White’s party”), Reg White woke up with a hangover and the memory of having given one of the worst performances of his career last night in Dionysus’ Vineyard. The members of his entourage were quick to assure him that the crowd had loved him anyway, despite his moody demeanor and the shaky quality of his singing. But Reg knew from the pitying looks Pete was giving him that he had, indeed, given a terrible performance. Obviously he had been affected by his friend Lucien’s troubles more deeply than he thought.

At 10:00 A.M, while he was sitting on the terrace in his yellow silk pajamas and blue bathrobe sipping a cup of strong coffee, someone brought him a UPS Overnight envelope that had arrived in the wee hours of the morning, shortly after he had fallen into bed. Reg opened it and found a thick file folder from Beckett Investigations; it was sealed and marked “Confidential: To Be Opened Only By Reginald White”. So, after sending the rest of his entourage off on various errands, with the exception of his bodyguard, who remained at the French doors pretending to admire the scenery, Reg forced himself to break the seal and read all about the life of Roger Thomas Wilkins. If he hadn’t been too hungover to eat to begin with, he would have lost his appetite from the account of Roger’s early years alone. 

By the time he finished the folder, it was two in the afternoon. His tired eyes begged for a rest, while his stomach begged for something to fill it besides black coffee and aspirin. Reg stumbled back into his suite, where he hid the folder carefully before taking a long shower and a short nap. He left orders to be woken up at four and to invite Lucien Le Barre over for tea.

When Lucien arrived, he found a very subdued Reginald White sitting in the shade on his terrace, an elaborate tea laid out on the table before him. Even his clothing was subdued, for Reg; his favorite rugby shirt with the black and white vertical stripes, worn with black jeans, white socks with black polka dots, and black loafers. Lucien was impeccably clad in a white linen shirt with a sky blue tie to match his sports jacket, worn over white linen trousers, sky blue socks and white moccasins. “ _Bonjour,_ Reginald. How are you feeling this morning?” Lucien inquired courteously.

“Like hell, darling,” Reg admitted. “I’m afraid I overdid it last night. Frankly, I’m so worried about what’s going on between you, Roger and Quentin that I found it hard to concentrate on my performance.”

“My poor Reginald! I hope that your performance did not suffer,” Lucien said as he sat down next to Reg in the seat on his right. “Shall I pour out for you, _mon ami_? You look positively ragged.”

“Yes, I feel the same way too. Thank you,” Reg told him as he accepted a cup of strong English tea from Lucien, his favorite blend brewed in his own teapot and served in a rose pink teacup and saucer from his favorite Harlequin tea set. He dropped three sugar cubes into it and stirred it vigorously, wishing it had a drop of whiskey in it as well. As Lucien helped himself to tea, pouring it into a sky blue cup and saucer, Reg tried to think of a tactful way of breaking the bad news to him 

He waited until he and Lucien had eaten an egg and tomato sandwich apiece, and Lucien had finished a slice of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, while Reg toyed with a piece of fruit. Finally, he broke his silence.

“Lucien, my dear,” he began, “you know I would never dream of interfering in your private life--”

“But? I hear a ‘but’ coming, Reginald,” Lucien remarked wryly, after wiping cream cheese frosting daintily off his lips with a napkin.

“Oh, dear! Am I that obvious?” Reg smiled weakly as he fluttered his fingers helplessly. “Yes, dear, as I was about to say: But sometimes friends have to intervene on a friend’s behalf, to keep him from ruining his life.”

“I thought that I was saving my life, leaving Quentin for Roger.”

“Yes, so did I, at the time. But since then, I’ve learned some things about Roger that have--well, frankly, they’ve disturbed me. To put it simply, Lucien, I believe you may have jumped out of the proverbial frying pan right into the fire.”

Lucien’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Just what have you heard, Reginald? Gossip from one of your society friends in Aspen?”

"I’m afraid it can’t be dismissed as gossip, Lucien. Not when it comes from a detective agency.” Reg produced the confidential file on Roger from underneath the table, where it had been resting in the chair on his left, and put it down on the table between them.

Lucien stared at the file folder, which was at least eight inches thick. “Reginald, what have you done? Have you actually paid someone to investigate Roger’s background?”

“Yes, I have. For your sake, _mon ami._ You know I love you dearly and I’d do anything to protect you, even from yourself. And while I always thought Quentin was common, I never thought he was dangerous. Until three nights ago, that is. But now I believe he may have been justified in his anger towards you.” Reginald stared at him challengingly from behind his rose-colored glasses. “Admit it, there was something more than flirtation going on between you and Roger, wasn’t there?”

“What business is it of yours if there was?” Lucien demanded, feeling his face flush with guilt. 

“Because if there was any hanky-panky going on between you, I’m willing to bet my latest Grammy Award that Roger started it. Didn’t he?”

Lucien couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes. He looked down at his cake plate and began scraping leftover frosting off it with his fork. “I-I may have--encouraged him, when he dared me to--to prove I was not--attracted to him.” 

Reg nodded grimly. “That sounds like him, all right. I’ll bet he got you alone somewhere and told you all the things you wanted to hear, didn’t he? About things that Quentin was never interested in. And I’ll bet he told you he had never felt this way about any man before, didn’t he?”  When Lucien looked up at him with a shocked expression of recognition, he nodded again. “You’re not the first wealthy older man he’s used that line on. Lucien, my dear, you’ve been had, in more ways than one. Roger Wilkins is nothing but a gold-digging, opportunistic pretty boy. He’s a master at seducing someone while pretending to be seduced himself. He’s also a master at parting a fool from his money. And you know what they say, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool’. Lucien, darling, I’m afraid that if you stay with this man much longer, you may end up broke or dead.”

“Reginald White! You either have a great deal of nerve or no shame whatsoever!” Lucien declared angrily. “How dare you tell me these things about Roger! Where is your proof? In some file hastily thrown together by some fly-by-night detective agency? Which cheap detective did you hire to get this dirt on my friend?”

“Beckett Investigations is not some fly-by-night agency, Lucien. And you’ve meet Carl Andretti, Rene’s husband, so you know he’s no cheap detective. He’s in charge of the New York office now, and when I called him up and asked him to do a background check on Roger Wilkins, he called the Aspen office and made sure they put their best man on the case. This is what he found out.” Reg rested a hand on the folder, looking at Lucien unhappily over it. “I spent the whole morning reading this, after it arrived via Overnight Express. If you’re smart, you’ll read it too. I beg you to read it, Lucien. It could mean the difference between life and death.”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen!” Lucien scoffed. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“Prove me wrong, then! Read it yourself and find out exactly what you’re getting into! Or just get up and walk out right now, forget you ever saw this file, and try to live happily ever after with Roger, while wondering what you might have learned about him if you had read this. The choice is yours.” Reg folded his arms over his chest and jutted his chin at Lucien, daring him to read the file and learn the truth about his new lover.

Lucien stared at him indignantly for a long moment, then reached for the file and opened it. He scanned it lightly at first; the more he read, the more carefully he read it, unwilling to believe what he was reading. Several times he turned back to an earlier page to re-read something. The delicious food he had eaten began to feel like lead in his stomach as the truth about Roger Wilkins hit him right between the eyes. By the time he got to Roger’s postgraduate life after purchasing the art gallery, his eyes were burning with unshed tears. He pushed the file aside and said, “No more! I can’t read anymore! Ah, _bon Dieu,_ what have I gotten myself into?” He covered his face with his hands to hide his tears.

“There’s more, Lucien,” Reg told him softly, feeling ashamed of himself for having hurt his friend this way, even though he knew he was only being cruel to be kind. “You’ve got to read the last entry, at the back of the file. Read about what happened to his last lover. Please, Lucien! You’ve got to know what happened.”

Sick at heart, Lucien didn’t want to read anymore. But something told him he had better listen to Reginald’s advice. His friend had never steered him wrong before. So, after drying his tears on a napkin, he forced himself to read the final entry in the file, about what happened to the artist Sam Sterling after he had moved in with his young lover.

*******

Much later that day, as friends and lovers were meeting one another at Neptune’s Café while the sun set over the ocean, Roger Wilkins strode impatiently through the doorway from the hotel into the al fresco café, looking around at all the white-covered tables beneath colorful sunshades. He spotted Lucien, sitting alone at a table for two in the back. Despite the generous amount of shade, Lucien was wearing his sunglasses. His elbows were planted on the table and his hands folded beneath his chin as he sat with his head bowed over them, an untouched drink before him.

Smiling with relief at the sight of him, Roger headed toward the table in the back, oblivious of all the admiring stares he was getting. He looked good enough to eat; so good that most of the diners wished they could order him as a main course. The navy blue slacks he was wearing looked very good on his muscular frame; his short-sleeved yellow shirt was unbuttoned far enough to reveal his thick, black chest hairs. When he got to the table, he bent over Lucien to kiss him.

“There you are, my love! I’ve missed you so much!”

“It has only been twenty-four hours,” Lucien said coolly.

“It feels like years to me!” Roger declared. He pulled out the closest chair and sat down beside him. “How are you, my love? Are you all right? Did that beast Quentin try to get in touch with you?”

“No, I have not heard from Quentin.” Lucien didn’t raise his head; it was hard for Roger to tell whether he was looking at him or not through his sunglasses. 

“Is something wrong, Lucien?” A worried frown came over the handsome face as his blue eyes studied the strangely withdrawn older man. “What is it, _mon amor_? Come on, you can tell me,” Roger coaxed him with one of his charming smiles.

Lucien looked at him through the dark glasses, studied every inch of the handsome, bearded young face. How could he have been so deceived? What made him think that someone as young and handsome as Roger could ever care for him? * _I should have followed my instincts and sent him on his way the moment he began speaking French to me. Now I’m in so deep, I don’t know if I can get out. But I must try.*_ He looked into Roger’s face and said quietly, “Roger, who are Sam Sterling and Marlin Brandt?”

Roger turned pale beneath his suntanned skin, as the smile disappeared from his face. The small, still voice inside him began whispering frantically _, He knows! He knows!_ But he tried to brazen it out. “Sam Sterling and Marlin Brandt?” he repeated, wrinkling his brow as if trying to remember. “Oh, they were artists I used to do business with. I have a lot of their paintings in my gallery.”

“Didn’t you sell most of Brandt’s paintings after he got divorced? I understand his wife got nearly everything. Except for the hunting lodge in Aspen, where he drank himself to death.”

“Yes, that was a terrible tragedy,” said Roger. “Such a great talent, wasted away by alcohol.”

“I understand he didn’t use to drink so heavily, before he met you. So what drove him to drink, Roger? Was it you, or was it his wife finding out about you?”

“Look, Marlin Brandt was a macho kind of guy who liked drinking, gambling, hunting and fishing, along with skiing!” Roger said impatiently. “He liked having company while he did all those things! I kept him company, along with half a dozen other guys!” 

“And how many of those ‘other guys’ was he sleeping with, besides you?” Lucien asked, his French accent comically drawing out the American phrase.

“Okay, I admit it! I had a brief fling with Marlin, just before his divorce. But you can’t blame that on me! His wife was the jealous type, and he wasn’t too careful about covering his tracks. She knew he was playing on both sides of the fence long before I came along! That marriage was doomed from the start, but I didn’t kill it!”

“No, you simply hung around until he had given you every single one of his most valuable paintings as proof of his devotion. I’m sure your gallery profited from the acquisition of so many Brandt originals. And when he had nothing left to give you, you left him alone in his hunting lodge, the one piece of property his wife did not get in the divorce, with nothing but memories and a fully stocked bar. I wonder how long it took him to empty all the bottles in that bar? How long was he dead when the police finally found him? Did you bother to call and find out how he was doing, after the divorce? Or were you already working on acquiring a new patron of the arts to support your gallery?” Lucien sounded so bitter and cynical, not at all like the gentle man Roger knew.

“Lucien, my love, it wasn’t like that between me and Marlin!” Roger pleaded, using every ounce of his considerable charm to convince Lucien he had never cared for Marlin the way he cared for him. “I told you, we had a brief fling. He insisted on giving me some of his paintings to remember him by. And yes, my gallery did profit from his generosity. But he offered me those paintings freely, to show his affection for me. What was I supposed to do, throw them back in his face?”

Lucien just stared at him through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes hidden, his expression weary but determined. Roger couldn’t tell whether he was truly angry or just disappointed that Roger had been less than honest with him about his past. * _And just how did he find out about my past anyway?*_ Roger wondered. * _Did that queen-bitch Quentin spend the last few days snooping around, trying to dig up dirt on me to get Lucien back?*_ Out loud he said, “Who’s been telling you these things, Lucien? Did Quentin dig up the gossip columns from all of Aspen’s local newspapers, just to tell you what a bad boy I‘ve been?”

“How I found out is not important,” Lucien said crisply. “The important thing is that I did find out. The fact that you did not see fit to tell me about this part of your past tells me that you are less than proud of it. I thought that we were starting a new life together, with no secrets between us. Yet I had to find out from another source that your less than loving uncle, whom you described to me as a cold fish who never showed you affection, was actually an alcoholic who abused you and your aunt.”

Roger hung his head. “I was ashamed,” he admitted in a low voice. “I didn’t want to look like I was trying to gain your sympathy with a sob story. It was hard enough growing up without my father around to protect me from Uncle Mike’s beatings. But every time Uncle Mike smacked me around, he always told me how worthless I was, what a nuisance it was having a kid around, and if it wasn’t for the money my father sent every month he would never have allowed me to live under his roof. It made me wonder if even Aunt Minnie only kept me around because she was being paid to love me. So I guess I learned to associate money with love. That may explain why I’m attracted to wealthy older men who like to shower me with presents.”

He raised his head to look at Lucien defiantly. “But have I ever asked you for presents? Have I ever let you buy me more than the occasional drink or lunch? Do you think I’m a gold digger, trying to take you for anything I can get? Then why haven’t I asked for anything? Why didn’t I demand you come home with me to Aspen the morning after you came to me for help, for protection from Quentin’s violence?  Why aren’t we on the way to New York now, so you can throw all of his stuff out of your apartment to make room for mine?  I’ll tell you why.” Roger leaned forward to say earnestly, “Because I love you, and I want to make sure you know that it’s you I love, not your money.”

Lucien wanted to believe him. He wanted to go on thinking that it was love which made Roger seek him out on his first night at the resort, that he had finally met the man of his dreams, and that Roger had changed for his sake. But that thick file from the detective agency and the information it contained was still on his mind; so was Reginald’s concerned face as he urged Lucien to find out what had happened to Roger’s last lover. Which made him ask his final question, the most difficult and painful one of all. “What about Sam Sterling, Roger? Did you tell him you loved him too, while he was a prisoner in your home during his final months of life?”

“Sam Sterling wasn’t my prisoner!” Roger said angrily. “That was a lie that his sons made up, after he died and left everything to me! He came to live with me in the spring of 2001, after he became too sick with cancer to live alone. None of his sons offered to come out to Aspen to take care of him, even when he begged them to; they were all ‘too busy’. One offered to hire a private nurse, the others all told him to just check into a nursing home. So I let him move in with me, and I took care of him until the end, even when he was too sick to paint anymore. I loved him, Lucien! I really did.” Roger got all choked up at the memory of Sam Sterling in his final days; weak, sick and frail from pancreatic cancer, unable to rise from his bed, but with his smile undimmed as he lay with his once handsome head in Roger’s lap while Roger stroked his white hair.

“Then you did not hold him prisoner in your house? Or prevent his sons from visiting him?”

“They were welcome to come and see him any time they wanted to! They just didn’t want to set foot in his ‘fag lover’s’ house!” Roger said contemptuously. “They offered to meet him outside, at a restaurant, provided he didn’t bring me along. But Sam refused to go anywhere without me, and I wasn’t willing to let him go anywhere alone by then, because he was so sick. So I invited them to my gallery, which is only a short drive from my home, where they could sit and talk with him privately in my office. But they didn’t want to go there, either. They wanted nothing to do with me or anything of mine, because that would mean admitting that their father was gay. And he was in no shape to meet them anywhere that wasn’t close to our home. So they never got together, and they blamed me for the estrangement that resulted.

“And when he died and left everything to me, in gratitude for all I had done for him, they had the nerve to accuse me of undue influence! Any one of them could have come to my house at any time, and taken Sam away to live with him. I wouldn’t have stopped him, and Sam would have been thrilled to see that one of them cared! But none of them came, and the few times they called, all they did was insult me and threaten to have Sam committed to a nursing home to get him away from me. If it hadn’t been for me, Sam Sterling would have died alone and unloved. But I made sure that his last days were happy, that he was well taken care of, and that he didn’t die alone. And I’d do it all over again, even if he wasn’t rich or famous! Because he was a beautiful man and a talented artist, and I loved him with all my heart! Just like I love you, Lucien.” He squeezed Lucien’s hands gently in his as he gazed at him earnestly, blue eyes filled with sincerity.

Lucien was touched by his story, even as he wondered how much of it to believe. His own family was far away, in Paris, so they couldn’t keep regular tabs on him. If he were to suddenly drop out of sight, they wouldn’t think it at all unusual, knowing how much he valued his privacy while he was painting. But unlike the Sterling boys and their father, his brother had remained close to him even after learning he was gay. He had always been protective of Lucien, since they were children. So if he lost touch with Lucien and didn’t hear from him for a long time, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the first plane to Aspen and come barging into Roger’s house unannounced, demanding to see his brother. And he’d bring his wife and son with him, to help him rescue Lucien if necessary. But if Roger intended to spirit him away to Aspen and keep him a prisoner in his house, surely he would have done it by now? Unless he was just biding his time, waiting until Lucien had become so infatuated with him that he would do anything he asked. Wasn’t that how he had wormed his way into Marlin Brandt’s heart? And Sam Sterling’s? With a painful sigh, Lucien gently removed his hands from Roger’s grasp.

“I am sorry, Roger. But until I know for sure that your affection for me is real, I think it is best that we avoid each other’s company.” He started to rise from his seat.

“No, Lucien! Don’t go!” Roger grabbed his hands and held him back, looking at him pitifully. “Please don’t go! I’ve missed you so much, even in the short time we’ve been apart. I just want to be with you.”

“But I am not sure that I want to be with you, Roger. I need some time to myself to think about it. Please let go of my hands, Roger,” Lucien said calmly as he stood up, withdrawing from Roger both physically and emotionally.

Sensing his withdrawal, Roger let go, reluctantly, maintaining eye contact with him so that Lucien could see how visibly distressed he was at the thought of losing him. “Don’t go, Lucien, please!” he begged him softly.

“I must go, Roger. To someplace quiet where I can think this out. Now don’t take on so, please.” Lucien spoke reassuringly. “Stay here and have dinner while I walk around the grounds. It’s too nice an evening to be indoors brooding. I promise I will speak to you in the morning, when I have decided what to do _. Au revoir, mon ami._ ” Lucien turned, and leaving Roger at the table with his untouched drink, he walked away without looking back 

Roger watched him go with an aching heart, wondering if he had lost him. It looked as if his past had finally caught up to him, just when he had found a man he could genuinely love. He watched Lucien until he was out of sight, then picked up his drink and drained it in a few gulps. The sweet taste of orange juice and champagne did nothing to disguise the bitterness in his heart. He signaled the waiter to bring him another, thinking: * _This is going to be a long night.* ___

_********_

Lucien wandered through the hotel grounds aimlessly until it began to get dark. Then he doffed his dark glasses and headed back to the hotel, instinctively seeking out bright lights and crowded places to avoid the danger of being alone after dark. He wandered through the lobby of the Pyramid Hotel, looking idly at the shop windows and the many restaurants and bars filled with people having a good time. People like him; gay men who knew that they were gay and enjoyed the company of other men just like them, whether they were happily single or living with that one special man who made their lives worthwhile. If only he could be sure which one of his lovers was that one special man.

He passed the Achilles’ Heel, a sports bar filled with men watching a baseball game on a widescreen TV. It was very noisy inside, filled with smoke and bodies in motion, all talking at once, it seemed. People were taking bets on the outcome of the ballgame, making comments on the play-by-play, praising or lamenting the players’ skill. He paused at the door to look inside the bar, saw that the game they were watching was American baseball and immediately lost interest. Just as he was about to move on, a man in black slacks and a red shirt came out of the bar and bumped into him.

“Oops! Excuse me,” Quentin Rogue said to the man in the sky blue jacket. Then he saw who it was and said “Lucien?”, staring at him as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Hello, Quentin.” Lucien looked up at him calmly. “May I speak to you for a few minutes?”

“Of course, of course! Anything you want!” Quentin assured him eagerly. “Come inside with me and have a drink."

“Not here, _mon cher,_ if you please. It is much too crowded and noisy. Could we perhaps go outside?” Lucien put his arm through Quentin’s as he guided him along. And Quentin followed him willingly, so happy to see him again that he didn’t care where Lucien led him.


	22. "Decisions"

“DECISIONS”

FOCUS: LUCIEN, QUENTIN, REG

Lucien and Quentin walked together arm and arm through the vast Pyramid Hotel, passing brightly-lit shop windows, dimly-lit bars and restaurants, and other places where they could have sat quietly, somewhere in the back, to have a private discussion. But they kept on walking, neither one speaking to the other. Despite the many fond glances Quentin kept giving his companion, occasionally stroking his arm or reaching around to grip his shoulder and hug him affectionately, Lucien avoided looking at him. He did not object to Quentin’s caresses, but he was determined not to be distracted by them. Far too many times in the past, Quentin had avoided a serious discussion by initiating lovemaking to distract Lucien from the subject at hand. He was determined not to let him get away with it tonight.

Lucien led the way to a side exit, which opened out into a section of the hotel that adjoined the Ganymede Lounge. It was a pleasant walkway lined with trees, red bricks outlining the path from the exit door to the back of the lounge, with plenty of white stone benches interspaced between the trees. There were twelve benches, six on each side of the path, all situated beneath a California Spruce tree with low, spreading branches, not low enough to touch the heads of whoever was sitting beneath them, just enough to cast a cool shade during the day and give them some privacy at night, when the moon was bright. The moon was only half full tonight, providing just enough light for the two of them to see the red brick path clearly. Lucien steered Quentin toward the fourth bench on the right, where they sat down.

“All right, Quentin, we can talk out here,” the artist told him, adding gently but firmly, “please try not to become upset. There are matters we must discuss which will not be pleasant.”

“Yes, I know that.” Quentin sat rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms nervously against his thighs. His thin, black nylon slacks had a red racing stripe running up each leg, which went beautifully with the short-sleeved red sports shirt he was wearing. As he sat shuffling his black sneaker-clad feet against the red brick underfoot, he suddenly found it very difficult to look at the man in the sky blue jacket sitting beside him. So he stared into the distance, at the empty bench beneath the tree on the opposite side of the path. “Lucien, I-I’m sorry that I--embarrassed you on the tennis court yesterday.”

“I am sure you are, _mon cher_ ,” Lucien said quietly, without sarcasm.

“I’m also sorry that-that I made it necessary for you to leave me.” Tears came to Quentin’s eyes, but he kept on going, bravely determined to have his say. “I’m sorry that I insulted you and hit you on Tuesday night. I’m sorry for all the times I upset you with my bad manners, my bad temper, my jealousy, and, and--and anything else that made you decide I wasn’t worth staying with.” A tear escaped from the corner of each of Quentin’s eyes and ran down his unshaven face, twenty-four hours worth of beard stubble covering his cheeks. He’d been too hungover to shave yesterday morning and too upset to do so after the altercation in the afternoon. “I don’t blame you for leaving. I know it hasn’t been easy living with me, putting up with my uncouth ways, trying to make a gentleman out of me. But I want you to know that I did try. I tried my best to learn French, to appreciate opera and Shakespeare and all that other highbrow stuff. I even learned how to recognize all those dead artists, the techniques they used and the periods they went through, so I could discuss them intelligently with you and your other artistic friends.

“But my best just wasn’t good enough. After thirty years, I still can’t speak French, even though I understand it. I still prefer jazz to opera. I would rather read a detective novel than any of Shakespeare’s plays. And--” Quentin paused for breath as he wondered whether to admit this, then decided to say it anyway. “I don’t think any of those dead artists can hold a candle to you, even though Van Gogh comes pretty close.” 

Lucien couldn’t help but smile. “You always were biased on my behalf, _mon cher_. Don’t think I did not appreciate your efforts to be more refined. Believe it or not, I was proud of you for taking the time to learn French, even if you still cannot speak it worth a damn. I was grateful to you for accompanying me to the opera or a Shakespearean play, especially when there was a game on the telly that I knew you would have preferred to watch instead. Your knowledge of jazz has proven useful on many occasions, especially when we were mingling with Reginald’s crowd. As for your taste in literature--” He gave an expressive Gallic shrug. “ _Eh bien_ , I blame that on the Boston public school system. Your father should have made more of an effort to find a good private school to send you to, after you were expelled from Saint Edmund’s.”

“I wasn’t expelled! I was asked to leave, because the principal objected to that article about gay rights that I wrote for the school paper!” Still disgusted by the uproar his honesty had caused all those years ago, Quentin added bitterly, “Apparently freedom of speech doesn’t apply to undergraduates at Saint Edmund’s Middle School. Which is why I wound up graduating from Samuel Adams High School instead.”

“You should thank _Le Bon Dieu_ that Saint Edmund’s was a Protestant school!” Lucien laughed. “Had they been Catholic, you would have surely been excommunicated, as well as expelled!”

Quentin looked sheepish. “Yes, I know I was lucky there. I’ve been lucky all my life, not having to work for a living, not having to hide the fact that I was gay, having liberal parents with _avant garde_ friends who were able to accept me as I am. Being able to go to college in New York, which had a much more tolerant attitude to gays back in the seventies. Meeting you…” He trailed off, turning his head to look at Lucien longingly. “Meeting you in the summer of 1974 was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. I just wish I could have told you that more often. Often enough so that you could forget or overlook all the times I embarrassed you with my uncouth manners. I’m sorry for all the pain I ever caused you, Lucien. And if you don’t want to come back to me, I hope we can at least part as friends.”

“Ah, Quentin!” Lucien sighed, taking his hand and squeezing it affectionately. “You silly dolt! You have been an idiot and an imbecile, especially these last few days. But I have been a fool, thinking I was getting a better man in exchange for you.”

“What do you mean?” Quentin stared at him, new hope stirring in his heart.

“I mean, my temperamental _Americaine_ , that I have made a mistake, leaving you for Roger, who, it turns out, is not what he seems.” Lucien shook his head sadly, wondering how he could have been so blinded by passion. “Neither have I been as honest with you as I should have been. I confess that I allowed Roger to seduce me on the riding trail our second day here. Afterwards I regretted it and tried to keep away from him. But he followed me to the lounge that night and forced that little confrontation out here that you witnessed from inside the French windows.” He nodded towards the brightly-lit French windows, two benches and two trees down, leading into the Ganymede Lounge. “I did fight him off, but when I told you, you refused to believe me. Then, when you hit me--” Lucien faltered and looked down at his feet. “When you hit me and hurt me like that, I had to get away. I had to run away.” 

“Oh, Lucien!” Quentin reached for him, only to see Lucien drop his hand and pull away, eyeing him distrustfully. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Quentin said quickly. “I just wanted to hold you. I won’t hit you again, I promise!” He could see from the way that Lucien was looking at him that he didn’t quite believe this promise. “I mean it, Lucien! I won’t ever hit you again. The only excuse I can give you is that I was out of my mind with jealousy that night. You know how I’ve always been afraid that someone would take you from me, someone younger, better looking, and more refined. Now someone has, all because I wouldn’t believe you when you said there was nothing going on between you.”

“But there was, Quentin,” Lucien persisted, determined to be honest with him. “I told you how I allowed him to seduce me on the riding trail.” 

Quentin stared at him in dismay. “The day I got stuck on that slowpoke of a horse?”

“Yes, Quentin,” Lucien confessed bravely. “I let him go down on me.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Can you forgive me, _mon amor_?”

Quentin thought it over and shrugged. “I don’t see why not. As long as he didn’t take you.”

“No, not until after I had left you.”

Quentin cringed, but bravely acknowledged, “Well, since we had already split up by then, I guess I can’t blame you for that.” He peered at Lucien’s face in the moonlight. “What happened to your face? Reg said you had a black eye and some nasty bruises.”

“Reginald loaned me the services of his makeup man, who showed me how to use a coverstick and face powder. The rest of the time, I wear my sunglasses.”

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt more seriously. You weren’t, were you?” Quentin asked anxiously.

Lucien gave another of his expressive Gallic shrugs. “I was very uncomfortable for a day or so. But that is water under the bridge now. The question is, can you forgive me for the infidelity, if I forgive you for the violence?”

“Yes, I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” Quentin reached for his hand, eagerly at first, then more slowly when he saw that Lucien still shied away from any sudden moves on his part. “Now the question is, can we still live with each other after all this?”

“I do not know. But I am willing to try.” Lucien reached out a hand to him, letting it hang in the air between them to show he was willing to meet him halfway.

Quentin reached out and took his hand, holding it in a firm, loving grip as he looked into his eyes. “I love you, Lucien. If you come back to me, I promise things will be different.”

“No more temper tantrums? No more jealous scenes in public? No more _hitting_?” Lucien emphasized this last, tightening his own grip warningly.

“No, no more hitting! Never again, under any circumstances! As for my bad temper and my jealousy, well…” Quentin’s voice trailed off as he looked awkwardly at him. “I suppose I could try harder to control myself. Perhaps I could see a professional…?”

“I believe the word you are looking for is ‘therapist‘. Someone who specializes in anger management. Perhaps we could both benefit from couples therapy?”

“Oh, all right!” Quentin disliked psychotherapy, ever since he was a teenager trying to deal with his sexuality who kept running into therapists that wanted to “save” him from his “unnatural” inclinations. “I’ll do anything to prove I love you. Even put up with strangers getting inside my head. Just say you’ll come back to me, Lucien, please!" 

Lucien looked pleased at having won this many concessions from Quentin. But there was just one more thing that had to be settled between them. “All right, Quentin. Give me some time to break things off with Roger and we will go home together Monday morning." 

“How much time?” Quentin demanded.

“One day, that is all. I have already spoken to him earlier, to confront him about certain things Reginald found out about him. He told me about them when I came to tea this afternoon.”

“What kind of things?”

“I would rather not discuss Roger’s past with you, Quentin. Let us just say that what I found out about him was unsavory enough to influence my decision to return to you.” Lucien laid his other hand atop their clasped hands as he regarded him gravely.

Quentin was so happy at the prospect of getting him back, he decided he didn’t need to know about Roger’s past. Right now, anyway. But he made a mental note to question Reg White about it at the first opportunity. “All right, forget Roger! Let’s put this all behind us and begin again.”

“Yes, let us do so.” Lucien rose to his feet, pulling Quentin up with him. He put his right arm around Quentin’s neck and pulled his head down for a kiss.

Quentin was so happy to be kissing his estranged spouse, he forgot about everything else. But Lucien didn’t. So Quentin was completely unprepared when Lucien stopped kissing him and said sweetly, “Oh, Quentin, there is just one other thing…”

“Yes, my love?” Quentin asked adoringly.

Lucien stepped back and punched him in the face, a right hook that sent him sprawling on the red brick walkway beside the white stone bench in the moonlight. “Now that I have evened the score,” Lucien told the stunned man at his feet, as he stood over him rubbing his sore knuckles and smiling, “I expect you to remember your promise never to hit me again. Or I swear by L _e Bon Dieu_ and all the saints in heaven, if you ever lay a hand on me again, I will kick your arrogant ass. Do we understand each other, _mon amor_?”

All Quentin could do was say, “Yes, Lucien,” unable to nod his head since he was still seeing stars. When Lucien bent down and offered him a hand up, he accepted the helping hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, where Lucien lovingly brushed him off and kissed him again.

“Let us go inside now, Quentin. It is Saturday night, and we have a great deal of fun together to catch up on.”

Quentin, whose vision was beginning to clear up by now, allowed himself to be led toward the French windows, still rubbing his jaw and wondering what the hell had happened. 

**************** 

When Reg White and the White Outs arrived at the Ganymede Lounge for their after party, they found the usual buffet set up, the usual hangers-on eager to party with them, and the usual loving couples occupying their regular tables in the corners. Reg was the only one who wasn’t surprised to see that Lucien and Quentin were one of those couples. Mutual friends greeted them cautiously or with great joy, hoping this meant reconciliation was in the works. Some people avoided them, muttering that it wouldn’t last. But Reg dropped by their table when he saw Quentin leave to go to the bathroom.

“Is everything all right, Lucien?” Reg asked anxiously as he sank into Quentin’s vacated chair. Kenny hovered protectively behind him, ready to warn him if he saw Quentin coming back.

“Yes, _mon cher ami_ , everything is fine,” Lucien told him. He was relaxed and smiling; his jacket was hanging on the back of his chair and he had even removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Has Quentin promised to behave himself from now on? No more public scenes, no more jealous tantrums? No more _hitting_?” 

“Yes, he has promised me that we will go into couples therapy together. You see, all is well, Reginald.”

“Are you sure he means it? It’s easy enough to make promises, when you’re desperate to lure someone back. How do you know he’ll keep his promises?”

“Because I know him, Reginald. Do not be so suspicious of my poor Quentin! He is doing the best he can for himself.”

“What about Roger? I’m sure he was doing his best for himself when he got his hooks into you,” Reg told him cynically. “He’s not going to let you go so easily, Lucien. You’d better be prepared for anything.”

“I assure you I am. I promised Quentin that I would break things off with Roger tomorrow, and that we would be on our way home together by Monday night.”

Reg still looked skeptical. “Remember what you read in the file, Lucien. The man’s a user and a consummate actor. He’ll stop at nothing to keep you. You’d better watch your back. After what we saw on the tennis court yesterday, I think Quentin ought to watch his back too. Remember that Roger was in the Navy; if the U.S. Navy is anything like the Royal Navy, he’s sure to have learned some nasty tricks about fighting. My father used to use some of those tricks on me while I was growing up, trying to make a man out of me. I was always sore for days afterwards. He only left bruises where my clothes would cover them, so my mother never noticed.”

“My poor Reginald!” Lucien squeezed his hands consolingly where they rested on the table. “But that is all behind you now, _non_? You have not seen your father since your first record went to number one, and I’m sure you would never let any other man treat you the way that he did.”

Reg suddenly became very quiet and sad; he hung his head and said in a low voice, “Lucien, do you remember my ex-boyfriend, Barry Tarp?”

“Your first partner, who used to write your songs? Yes, I remember the two of you had a falling out after you moved to the states. He was the reason that you married Rene, _non_? On the rebound, as it were.”

“I was still in the closet,” Reg admitted painfully, “and I didn’t have the courage to come out yet. But before we broke up, Barry put me through hell. He was even more anxious to appear straight than I was. He hated my fancy clothes and eyeglasses, the way I kept changing my hair color, and the gay discos I liked going to. He kept telling me to butch it up, wear more denim and leather, stop talking so pouncy and acting so swishy. When I talked back to him, he’d tell me to ‘Shut up, Bitch!’ Then he started slapping me in the face when I talked back to him.

“At first he was all apologies. He’d tell me how sorry he was and promise it would never happen again. I’d try not to argue with him or make him angry, but it just kept getting worse and worse. Soon we were having screaming matches in my dressing room before every performance. We’d argue about the songs, the musical arrangements, what I was wearing, what I would say between the songs, even how long I was supposed to let the guest artists perform. If I didn’t do things his way, I got slapped around again. If things didn’t go well on stage, I’d get slapped around some more afterwards. He broke my glasses at least three times, gave me a black eye about half a dozen times. Then he started grabbing me by the throat and pounding the back of my head against the wall. That’s when I started wearing those fancy scarves around my neck to hide the bruises there, and dark glasses to hide my black eyes. I wore big cowboy-style hats to set off the dark glasses, which started a new trend, especially when that John Travolta movie, “Urban Cowboy”, came out.

“I went to so much trouble to hide my bruises, wearing my big hats, my scarves and my dark glasses all the time, they started referring to me as the Gay Greta Garbo. That made Barry even more furious; he started leaning on Pete to get him to stop the gossip columnists from hinting that I was gay. As if everybody didn’t know already!” Reg snorted in disgust, his contempt for his former partner evident in every line on his normally cheerful face. “Pete did his best to control the press, but he couldn’t bribe or threaten the most prominent columnists in New York. So Barry started calling them up and yelling at them whenever they printed something unflattering, which only made it worse. The more he said I wasn’t gay, the more convinced they became that I was. That meant he had to be gay too, since he was my closest friend, and he just couldn’t accept that.

“The last straw came when I wanted to go to the Cannes Film Festival in the spring of ‘76 and he told me I couldn’t go, because it was ‘too gay’. He meant that there would be too many gay artists there, actors and musicians both. Most of them were my friends, so of course I’d be partying and club-hopping with them. But he didn’t want me to be seen with anybody who was gay. He said it was for my own good, that it would be better for my image, but it was really his image that he was thinking about. I got so fed up, I told him to his face, ‘You can spend the rest of your life in the closet if you want, but I’m busting out of there!’ He told me, ‘You do and I’ll bust your face!’ So I told him, ‘You can’t touch me, I’m your bloody meal ticket! Once you punch a meal ticket, it’s worthless!’ And he said, ‘You’re already worthless!’ and punched me. Again and again, Lucien.” Reg started sobbing and shaking all over, as Lucien held his hands comfortingly. “He punched me where it wouldn’t show, in my stomach, on my chest and arms, just like my father. My glasses flew off, I saw stars, and my nose began bleeding

“When he pushed me up against a wall and put his hands on my throat, all of a sudden I flashed back to when I was a kid; my father was beating me, cursing me out and telling me ‘Be a man, damn it!’”. So I said to myself, ‘All right, Daddy, I’ll be a man, then.’ I put my hands up and jabbed the heels of my hands against Barry’s temples, while I shoved my right knee into his groin. That made him back off fast. Once I started hitting him, I couldn’t stop, Lucien. I pushed him, punched him, and kicked him, forcing him to back up toward the door of my apartment, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“When his back hit the door, I told him, ‘Get out! Get out, you son of a bitch! Get out now, before I fucking kill you!’ He couldn’t get out the door fast enough. After it slammed behind him, I double locked it. I went back and found my glasses, then I started going around the apartment, picking up all his things; clothes, cologne, shoes, notebooks and other rubbish he used to leave whenever he spent the night. When I had an armful of them, I went straight to the terrace and threw them all off the balcony. Just by luck, Barry happened to be walking by at that moment. You should have seen his face when all that shit of his fell upon his head!” Reg chuckled, good humor restored.  

Lucien was able to smile again when he heard how his friend had ended his abusive relationship. “What did you do then, Reginald?”

“I called Pete and told him what had happened. He came over and took me to the emergency room of Saint Vincent’s Hospital in the Village, where I was living at the time. He gave out a press statement saying that I had been mugged and was going to spend a few days in seclusion. I spent my seclusion in France, attending the Cannes Film Festival. Didn’t do as much partying as I had planned to do, but at least I was free to decide if I wanted to go or not. By the time I got back to the states, Pete had legally dissolved my partnership with Barry and paid him enough to keep his mouth shut. He also got me an order of protection, and my first bodyguard, in case Barry tried to get even. It wasn’t long after that I proposed to Rene, at Pete’s suggestion. He recommended that I marry one of my close woman friends, preferably an American girl, so that I could go on passing for straight and get American citizenship as well. I was so disgusted with men, I told myself I didn’t need them anymore. I vowed to be straight from then on, so that no man would ever hurt me again. Of course that didn’t last too long, but I liked being married to Rene while it lasted. She was like a sister to me, which is what she told the judge a year and a half later when she explained why she wanted a divorce.”    

“I remember your wedding, at Saint Sebastion’s Church, on the Fourth of July," said Lucien. “It was lovely, with all those red, white and blue carnations, the American flags and the British Union Jacks in the bouquets. The red, white and blue motif at the reception was lovely too, though Quentin thought you were overdoing it a bit wearing the red, white and blue striped waistcoat with your white tuxedo. To say nothing of the stovepipe hat that made you look like Uncle Sam.”

“At least Rene was in white!” Reg laughed. “But the red, white and blue dresses for the bridesmaids were her idea. Naturally I had to dress my groomsmen in red, white and blue tuxedos. Too bad we couldn’t have three flower girls. She only had two nieces! We compromised by putting one of them in a red gown and the other in a blue gown, while my little cousin Gerald, who was the ring bearer, wore a white suit.”

While they were reminiscing, Kenny suddenly spotted Quentin in the crowd. He tapped Reg on the shoulder and said in a low voice, “Reg, Quentin’s coming this way. He stopped at the bar for a couple of drinks.”

Reg hastily vacated the chair he was sitting in and took the one next to Lucien. By the time Quentin appeared at the table, holding a drink in each hand, he found Lucien and Reg chatting away side by side, with Kenny standing vigilantly behind the singer. “Oh, hello Quentin!” Reg said at the sight of him.

“Hello yourself, Reg. I hope you don’t intend to monopolize Lucian for the rest of the evening?” Quentin sat down across from Lucien and slide his usual drink over to his side of the table, smiling fondly at him across the mimosa.

“No, dear boy, we were just catching up. I wouldn’t dream of coming between you two.”

“Well, you’re the one responsible for us being together again,” Quentin said jovially. “So why don’t you send your muscleman there for a couple of drinks and stay awhile?”

“Some other time, darling. I still have a few more tables to hop. Cheerio!” Reg hopped up, squeezed Lucian’s hand in parting and said, “ _Au revoir, mon ami._ I hope everything works out all right for you.”

“ _Merci,_ Reginald.” Lucien squeezed his hand affectionately in return and watched him go, his muscular young bodyguard in tow. He looked at Quentin anxiously and was relieved to see he didn’t look annoyed; he was still worried about his temper. “How are you feeling, _mon cher_?” he asked tenderly.

“Much better, now I’m with you again.” Quentin took his hand across the table and smiled at him. “Would you like to order dinner now?”

“Yes, as soon as we can get a waiter’s attention.”

“Hold on, I’ll trip one as he walks by.”

“No, Quentin! Just wave one over, please!”

“I’m just kidding! I know you don’t approve of me mistreating the hired help.” Quentin waited until he saw a waiter approaching and waved him over. After they had been provided with menus, they each chose a dish and gave him their order. When the waiter had left, Quention took Lucien’s hand again. “So, are you staying for dessert? Or would you like to retire early?”

Lucien looked at him suspiciously. “Quentin, are you hinting that you would like us to retire together?”

“I thought I was being subtle,” Quentin told him with an innocent look.

“Yes, as subtle as a charging bull. You do know that you are still _persona non grata_ on the thirteenth floor, where I am staying?”

“Yes, I know I can’t spend the night in Reg’s territory. That doesn’t mean you can’t spend the night in my room. It used to be _our_ room, remember? Before all this trouble started.”

“Yes, I know.” Lucien felt a bit confused. Was it too soon to spend the night with Quentin? Shouldn’t he make a clean break from Roger first? On the other hand, what better way was there to persuade Roger that they were through? If he managed to spend the night with Quentin unscathed, surely that would convince Roger that their desire to reconcile was sincere? Besides, he had missed Quentin the last three days. Roger’s lovemaking was as filled with youthful enthusiasm as he was, but there was something mechanical about it that gave Lucien the impression that he was just going through the motions. Remembering what he had read in the detective agency’s file on Roger’s background, Lucien reflected that a man who had spent most of his life seducing older men for profit was bound to become jaded, to the point where he would put his body on automatic pilot and just do all the things that he knew older men preferred.

_Yes, Roger is eager to please--a little too much so. He seems more interested in impressing me than in pleasing me. At least when Quentin makes love to me, I know he is doing something because he knows I like it._ He made up his mind, squeezed Quentin’s hand and smiled. “I suppose I should spend the night with you, just to see if it is still as good as I remember.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Quentin told him in a low voice that gave Lucien the shivers. When Quentin leaned across the table to kiss him, Lucien savored it like fine wine. They managed to part lips as the waiter returned with their food.

****************  

 After dinner, Lucien accompanied Quentin back to their old room, where they spent some time on the couch kissing and petting, each one wary of how the other one might respond. When Quentin unbuttoned Lucien’s shirt and browsed through his chest hair for his nipples, licking and sucking each one to a hard, fleshy nub, Lucien kept expecting to be pushed down on his back, where Quentin would lose no time ripping their pants off and sticking his cock into Lucien, after the briefest of blowjobs and a hasty application of spit as lubricant. But Quentin surprised Lucien by being gentle with him, almost to the point of passivity. Instead of trying to screw him, he went down on him, after licking a long, wet trail from his nipples to his navel, then from his navel to his groin, where he unzipped him and gently released his now throbbing erection; kneeling on the floor before him, he gave Lucien’s cock a few affectionate licks to clean up the pre-cum that was dripping from the head, before taking it into his mouth.

Lucien just sat back and enjoyed himself, running his fingers through Quentin’s hair, pressing down gently on the back of his head to encourage him, stroking his back lovingly with his other hand, all the while moaning pleasurably and whispering to him in French. When he came, he pushed Quentin’s head down with both hands, forcing Quentin to deep-throat him while he came copiously, hot waves of pleasure pulsing through his groin and spreading throughout his body as he cried aloud. Afterwards, Quentin remained kneeling by the couch with his head in Lucien’s lap while Lucien stroked his hair and murmured affectionately to him.

“Ah, Quentin, how I have missed you,” Lucien sighed. “I thought that everything would be better once I met a man with whom I had more in common. But as charming as he is, he cannot take the place of you.”

“Nobody can take your place in my heart, Lucien,” Quentin told him adoringly. “I’ve been so lonely without you. Please come back to me.”

“Yes, _mon cher_ , I will come back to you.” Lucien leaned forward to hug him, resting his cheek on Quentin’s dark head, which had considerably more gray streaked in it than Roger’s. “But first you must take me to bed and convince me that you still love me.”

“I’ll do anything for you, Lucien,” Quentin vowed as he stroked Lucien’s naked thighs with his fingertips. “Anything at all. You name it.”

“I will be happy to, _mon cher.”_ Lucien looked up at the ceiling and rolled his eyes as he sighed. “But how am I going to break this to Roger?”


End file.
